Fighting the System
by Offtimeotaku
Summary: Of all the things that could happen after death, he never thought reincarnation would be it. Trapped inside of a new world, he would have to struggle to survive and use protect those close to him as the cruel world attempts to take everything away. This is the tale of Alfonso vi Britannia, and how he would forever change this new world.
1. A Noble Rebirth

Death. The single constant in existence is that all that comes to be, must eventually fade away. Whether it be old, young, man, woman, person, animal, or other, everything meets its end. But nobody knows what occurs after our time expires, what awaits us on the other side.

Sure, we all have theories. But nobody will know until that final second has ticked on the clock signaling the end. And for one unusual soul, that final second would lead to a whole lot more, most of which would be… _interesting_, to say the least.

* * *

Well, shit. That could've gone a _lot_ better.

He always thought he would go out in a relaxing way. Having that stroke while watching the news. Taking a sip of good old prune juice then collapsing. Falling down the stairs after a rough morning struggling with dentures.

Point is, he thought he would be _old_, or at least old_er, _before Death walked in and decided "Hey, nice life, I'll be taking that now", while stabbing him with a scythe. Just goes to show how you should never trust a cat.

Ok, this may seem a little confusing so far. Backing up a minute now. It was a nice August afternoon, at least if you were a Floridian. For a New Yorker, it was torture. Nothing against Floridians, but he always thought that those who enjoyed living in weather over 90 degrees belonged in the loony bin (of course, he also couldn't see it from their point of view, because his opinion was _fact_). A perfect day for a dip in the pool, but he didn't have one. So he turned to his favorite old pastime: biking around the neighborhood.

After letting his mother know of his plans (with a reply of "Don't be gone for more than half an hour, young man, or it will be no dinner tonight for you!), he opened the front door and left. And yes, he still lived with his mother. After college, it helped lessen expenses by cutting down on rent money. Don't judge him.

Anyway, he walked out back towards the dilapidated old garage, filled with smaller holes and with eerie _creaking_ always present. After grabbing his trusty old bike, the one he had saved his meager allowance months for, and his bright blue helmet, he was off to the street. While his biking was mainly as an enjoyable activity, he also did it for the optimistic hope that it would help him reduce weight.

He still didn't have the right body that he wanted. Biking could help solve that, wouldn't it? A few miles here and there a day and he would look like stupid Joe any time now (Joe was his football friend who had a rocking 160 pounds, only 62 less than his own 222 pounds. Yeah… on second thought biking might not help THAT much).

Ok, off track again. Point is, he probably should have checked the bike chain before biking. For, you see, the neighborhood devil of a loose cat decided to have a scratch on that chain (already rusted) the previous evening, causing the rusted chain to hasten in its deterioration. He never checked it because, ever the optimist, he never saw the possibility of equipment failure happening to him. Lo and behold, two miles and twenty minutes later, it snapped.

That might be an alright thing if you were, say, biking in the neighborhood park or in a parking lot. But he had already completed both of these former activities. No, he had to be heading home on Erie Avenue, the longest, busiest, and noisiest street in the city. Which also had no bicycle lane to the side out of budget concerns (if he remembered correctly, it was Mayor Sherman who said "Barely anybody bikes around anymore, so the money should instead be transferred to the education budget! Yeah…. fuck him) Needless to say, things did not end very well. Especially since a delivery truck was driving in that same section of road.

_*Bang*_

_*Swerve*_

_*"AGH"* _

_*Crash*_

_*Splat*_

While conscious for an agonizing and slow minute later, he could immediately tell he wouldn't make it, even without his nursing knowledge. If it wasn't the crushed ribs he could feel digging into his lungs telling him that, then it was the _*snap* _he heard in his neck area that sounded like a high-pressured rope giving way, or the blood draining into that storm drain over there in a hypnotizing wavy pattern. And, wait, why was his leg bending backwards like a goddamn flamingo?

After a good few screams and weak curses directed at the truck driver (driving away right at that moment, fucking coward), realization of the previous fact began seeping in and, just like that, the light went out. Final thoughts about how fucked he was and how he never was able to put his life to any use.

And that was how poor little Daniel Waldi met his end. Not at the eighty-four years of life that he expected, but rather the twenty-three years that he got. Which he wasted on planning for his future. Life sure could be a bitch, couldn't it?

* * *

Darkness. An endless pit, nothing to be seen for miles around. Falling, falling, falling-

Stop.

Ever go parachuting, leaping off the edge of safety to the unknown world below, just to feel the parachute deploy at the unlikeliest of moments and yank you back from the edge of oblivion? That was how Daniel felt right after he expired.

His mind came back first, disoriented and confused. Next came touch, sound, vision, tast-

Wait, why couldn't he see? Or feel, touch, smell, taste, move, or even breath! It wasn't supposed to work like this! He wasn't very religious, but he still expected to have gone to Heaven or Hell when he died. Where were the pearly gates? The old man with the beard? At this moment, he would even take the red horn guy. At least that would lead to some certainty!

He began to freak out, thrashing about wildly while thinking thoughts of fear. (Of course, the thrashing was in his mind. No touch or ability to move, remember?)

After what seemed like hours, he finally calmed. Not totally cool with the conditions, but understanding as to the current situation. While being trapped solely within his mind wasn't exactly _fun_, it was better than nothing. Besides, it could be worse. He could have survived but been crippled, or lost his memory, or something worse could have occurred. Trapped in his mind? Probably one of the better outcomes of the accident, he desperately reasoned to himself.

And so, he waited, passing time idly thinking.

Hours turned into days. Days into weeks. Weeks into months, and so on. It gave him more time to think than ever before, especially about the situation. Who screwed up in the afterlife department? Where was he? What exactly happened to his bike chain? And, hey, what would happen to his family? How hard could a person get hit and survive? What movie was better, "_Endgame" _or "_Spider-Man: Homecoming"._

Yeah… needless to say he had a lot of time on his hands.

* * *

Eventually, his sense of touch slowly returned. A pinprick of feeling in his right thumb. His foot and toes coming back and becoming moveable. His heartbeat once again able to be felt, if not heard. However, besides touch, everything else was still absent from his perception. However, after what felt like an eternity of darkness and void, he eventually started noticing immense pressure building up around him. He could feel himself moving, but didn't know where. He had absolutely no control. Eventually, he noticed a bright light.

Wait…brightness…

His vision was back!

Almost at once, he noticed his senses were returning, albeit in a poor state. He could see less than he could while drunk, hear worse than that _fun _month of conductive hearing loss. But, it was a start.

He heard faint voices, but slowly growing in loudness as his hearing returned.

"His name will be Alfonso vi Britannia!"

Who was that lady? Talking about a name, what type of name is that! Then, he began to take note of his surroundings. His touch registered being surrounded by a soft material. His eyes, from what he could gather, saw what appeared to be a black-haired giant looking down at him. His ears registered that it was probably this lady who just spoke.

His mind, putting together a hypothesis, promptly acted. If by acted you meant shutting down.

"_H..wh...what?"_

He then noticed a second presence in the room. Turning his eyes, he saw a true giant of a man. A silver beard and hair streaked with white, with truly bizarre curly...things (what?) that looked like hair. A uniform that screamed _power_ and accentuated his look of being ready to kill someone. And dark, violet eyes that were colder than steel, looking into his own.

"...weak."

If glares could kill, then our poor protagonist would be in hell by now. This wasn't the old man with a beard he was expecting.

The giant lady seemed to take a little offense to that, putting her right hand up to her chin while maintaining her hold of the child with her left. "Why, come now Charles, he is just a newborn. Give it time." Returning to the child in her arms, she smiled. "Isn't that right my little Alfie?"

No response. Not that one was expected of a newborn. However, what they couldn't see was the attempts of poor little "Alfie" to rectify the situation with reality.

"_Is this Hell? No, I mean, I've been a nice guy. I gave to charity!"_

"_Wait a second… dead guy living, giants, lack of senses… reincarnation? Is that it then? I mean, it would make sense. Some religions went this route. But then, why do I remember my past? Where the hell am I? And that emptiness these last few- wait, is that what the fuck that was!? Oh...Oh"_

The other hulking figure, now named Charles, proceeded to lessen the glare, turning his attention to the woman with noticeably more care in his gaze. "Then it will be your job to strengthen him up, Marianne. Congratulations. '' And with that, he broke off the glare fully and abruptly turned, purple cape fluttering a little with the sudden movement, and began rapidly exiting the room.

"Alfie" suddenly felt scared, as realization dawned on him. His home, family, friends… all truly gone. He wanted out, out of whatever this madness was. He wanted to go _home_. And so, he began weeping.

The "mother" of the child was seemingly aware of his cries.

"Aww, don't cry. Father can be nice too," he heard the lady say, completely misunderstanding his inner turmoil. Signaling to a maternity nurse in the corner of a room to come closer, Marianne carefully gave him the child. "Please take him to be fed and then to the nursery. I will be there to see him after you have finished".

"Right away, my lady," came the nervous reply. And then, just like the bearded man a few minutes earlier, the lady got up and proceeded to vacate the room.

"Come on now, little guy. Let's get you fed."

And so he was whisked away, thoughts still focused on what he would do now.

* * *

Ten minutes after that lady had finally left, and two hours after being placed in a new room, our baby protagonist still had trouble understanding the situation.

It was a medium sized room. That's all that could be said about it. A small cradle sitting in the middle, with a fluffy red carpet gracing the floor and eggshell-white walls adorned with various patterns of purple and orange, along with two large windows on the walls and a small sky window. The white drawer sat in the corner, looking like it was just made and installed in that very day. A lazy ceiling fan spun around on an endless task.

"Alfonso" laid in the crib, staring into the blankness. His mind, now calmed, has started thinking, his usual idealism mostly absent.

He was in a foreign land, that much was obvious. Nothing that he had seen reminded him of his home, with the glimpses of the outside and the moments that he had seen of the news looking so… _alien_. However, this was not entirely a bad thing in his mind. This was another chance, he rationalized. A way forward rather than a step back.

His old life was nothing remarkable. Born to a middle class family closer to the poor end of the definition, he certainly saw some struggles. Financial issues, especially about his future, refused to escape his mind. While smart, he was always afraid that the shaky edifice of his "intelligence" would fall like a house of cards. While popular, he could tell that he had few genuine friends.

He never connected well, never really tried. Focused on his schoolwork to try to improve his future. Look what became of that.

His biggest fear was always towards the future. Would he make it? Probably not. All the optimism in the world couldn't stop his pessimism towards himself. However, he wasn't playing by the same rules anymore.

No, this would be a fresh start. A richer background, smarter start, and parents that wouldn't be as harsh as the old. Hopefully.

He would try to advance in this new life, make more connections and further his education, especially when it came to society. He also had always wanted to help people. So that is what he would do. He would make his mark in this strange new place, even if he thought himself unworthy of this new opportunity.

That night, under the shimmering stars of this new land, he swore to himself that he would make this life better than the last.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Hello all! My name is offtimeotaku and, as the name implies, I love anime in my free time. After reading stories of various fandoms on this website for a few years, I decided it was high time for me to attempt to contribute. Code Geass is my favorite anime so far and, even though it has been a bit since I have seen it, I decided to brush up on it and try my hand at writing a story.

I will try to make my story interesting and develop the characters as much as I can, but I do go into this without experience, so please do not be too harsh. Also, it may be a little bit before I update; I still need to plan out the story and this is more of a beginner to see if there would be any interest.

Finally, I do not claim ownership of Code Geass or any of its characters or plot, that goes to Sunrise.

That's all from me for now, have a nice day!


	2. The New Life

Why couldn't it have been any easier?

Alfonso was tired. So very tired. After all the etiquette lessons by the family butler, political lessons with Professor Cain, and early economic classes, he couldn't take it anymore. He was only four, for Christ's sake! Well, a four year old with the mind of a twenty seven year old, but that wasn't the point!

After escaping his jailer of a math tutor, he immediately made for his room. Running as fast as his small legs could carry him, with a guard following close behind, he soon navigated the maze of halls that made up the inside of his home, the Aries Villa. Making it to his room, he hastily opened the massive white door and slammed it shut behind him, with the guard halting outside of the room to stand watch.

The bedroom had changed much in the time since he was born.

The old baby cradle had long since been tossed in favor of a queen sized oak behemoth sitting in the far left, with an early flatscreen television sitting in front of it. The red rug, showing signs of the constant wear and tear, was still on the floor, covered in books and an odd toy here or there. The god-awful purple-orange walls had been repainted white-gold, along with more windows installed within the redecorated walls.

Bookcases littered the room, with five of the things found to the right of the doorway. Finally, a small desk cluttered with various papers and images sat to the immediate right of the entrance.

He immediately began to rip off all of his "clothes", chucking the breeches, undershirt, cravat, and red cape onto the floor (take that, butler!). Old clothes long forgotten, he changed into a simple white shirt and pajama pants, hopped onto his bed, grabbed his copy of "King Lear", and got to work.

That was one of the few things that he could connect with in this new world: books. All the old plays and comedies of Shakespeare were an island of familiarity in this badshit crazy world.

It hadn't taken him too long to figure out the basics of this world. Basics which, for all intents and purposes, made no sense. After looking at history, he was able to find that Queen Elizabeth had a child, the American Revolution was lost, Napoleon won, and a vast number of other differences had taken place. This was obviously not his world, and resembled it only at a passing glance.

Also, it turned out he was a member of a royal family. Fourth Prince Alfonso vi Britannia, 12th in line in the Britannian Imperial succession. It certainly had a ring to it. But the empire he was a member of had disgusted him. An even worse version of the British Empire, the Britannians were far more ethnocentric and war mongering than any he could remember, taking other countries rapidly through conquest and making them second class citizens.

But, he figured, he would deal with that in the future. He was only a child, he would have time. That was enough remembering the bad things. He had other things to do. A book to read, for example.

And then came the heavy, repeated knocks on the door.

"Your highness!" cried the voice. "Your mother has sent for your presence immediately!"

Letting out a frustrated sigh at getting interrupted, our prince folded the page, set down the book, and proceeded to the doorway in his pajamas. Opening the door, he saw one of his mothers guards, Ashworth, was waiting, breathing slightly heavily. He was dressed in the typical guard grey, which had always looked so dreary to Alfonso. Nevertheless, it must be important if he was being summoned.

"Where are we going?"

Noticing the dress (or, rather, lack thereof of the royal), the guard blanched slightly and spoke in a hushed, clipped tone. "You must change your clothes immediately, your highness. Your mother would never approve of such dress in the daytime hours."

Ugh, and he thought he could get out of those _things_ for the day. He used to think dress up shoes were the worst thing he could wear. Now, he wanted to punch that optimistic view in the fucking face.

The new clothes wasted little time being pulled from their drawers. After completing the process of dressing in a couple of minutes, he opened the door again. Instead of commenting, the guard quickly grabbed his hand and began to half-lead and half-drag him down the halls. That was another annoying aspect of being a child. Why couldn't they understand that he could follow a person without getting lost!?

Still, though, he scraped his mind and couldn't think of why his mother may want him. Looking to Ashworth, who continued to look ahead and continue moving, he voiced his frustrations. "Where are we going, I was reading a book!"

The hurried guard only took a moment to sneak a glance at him before his face was back looking forward, feet not skipping a beat during the response: "Her Majesty wants you and your brother to be with her to meet your new baby sister, who was born earlier this afternoon."

Wait, that was happening now? Sure, he knew his mother was pregnant, but he had overheard her mention that she wasn't due for at least two more weeks. Must have been born early, nothing too wrong with that. At least the interruption was justified. This was an important occasion!

He quickly hurried his steps to walk in lockstep with the guard, following close as they navigated their way out of the Villa and to an awaiting car.

* * *

The family he had received in this new world was… not exactly what he had first expected.

His father, Emperor Charles, was a horrendous person. Strict? Not exactly, more like absentee. He focused more on "ruling" than he ever did spending time with him, not that he wanted to enjoy time with the tyrant. He was a far more hawkish and discriminatory ruler than even the previous leader, Emperor Phillip. He preached Social Darwinism and revealed in military victory, and the only times he ever saw him were during official mandatory gatherings or on the news networks, giving his "speech" (rant) about power and strength. Still, at least his mother was kind and caring.

Empress Marianne, his mother, had always been kind and protective towards him, nurturing him through the harsh limitations of being a child and "teaching" him how to speak and walk. However, she could be a little overprotective, if her verbal fight and eventual removal (both physical and of status) of a Count who had accidentally shoved him to the ground during a party was any indication. You didn't mess with Alfonso unless you wanted an angry Empress on your tail.

And that made his early childhood that much worse. Constantly having to fake being a child, along with all the illiteracy, speaking difficulties, and pole-licking that came along with it. Still, he didn't do quite a good enough job. After being caught clearly reading a history textbook at age three by his mother, he was quickly put onto the road of tutoring, being seen as somewhat of a prodigy.

But, still, it was worth it to have a parent that cared, even if they still treated him like a child. He still didn't quite see her as his true mother, even if his original was strict, but he certainly cared for her.

He also had other siblings which he cared for, especially the younger ones, but _that_ discussion would be for another time.

His father, however… not so much.

* * *

The car ride seemed like forever, with the bright lights of Pendragon flashing by as he was raced towards the Royal Hospital, located just adjacent to the palace. It was used by the entire extended family of the Emperor, and as such was the only logical facility that Marianne would go.

Upon arrival, he was whisked out of the car by Ashworth and they entered the building. Just passed the entrance, they were met by another, similar duo sitting on some waiting chairs.

"Brother!", the smaller of the two shouted. Quickly hopping up out of the small metal waiting chair and running towards him, his three year old brother soon had him trapped in a bear hug.

Lelouch was another part of his family. Same violet eyes, but much darker hair and a shorter, slightly leaner stature. Born only a year after himself, he had yet to mature to the same extent Alfonso had, but that was to be expected. However, he was a very curious child, often attempting to sneak peaks at Alfonso's book collection or desk when he wasn't looking. A prodigy in his own right, albeit to a lesser degree than his older brother, he had already begun to read at an extremely low level and talk at a basic level recently.

He was also close to Alfonso, with the latter often playing around with the former to have fun and be a kid again. Say what you would, but crawling around in the grass and bushes was certainly more fun and acceptable for a child than an adult.

Anyways, he now had to extricate himself from the current situation.

"Lelouch!" he greeted, returning the hug. After a few seconds passed, he broke away from the younger child, who proceeded to look a little sad. "Wanna see Mother and our new sister!"

That cheered him up. "Mother!", he exclaimed, as he proceeded to run over to his accompanying guard and pull on his sleeve. "I wanna see Mama! I wanna see her!"

With that the guard, after shooting a quick, small glare at Alfonso for bringing Lelouch's attention to himself, began to hastily lead him down the hall. Meanwhile, the elder brother simply watched them go, then turned to his own guardian. "Will we follow them?"

"No, your highness,'' came the response. "Her Majesty requested that your highness enter before your brother. Let's not keep her waiting." And with that, Ashworth immediately stood up, brushed off his uniform, and began to make his way down the opposite hall that Lelouch was being led down, keeping Alfonso in tow.

* * *

"Alfie!"

As soon as he had stepped into the room, Ashworth waiting outside, his mother had taken notice of him. After calling to him, she beckoned him over with her free left arm. In her right, propped against her body, she held the reason for his being there.

His new little sister.

"Come here, son, don't be shy. Come say hi!"

At his mother's beckoning, he approached the hospital bed. With his mother lowering the new child out towards him, he finally got to see her.

A cute pudgy face. Adorable little arms and legs moving here and there. A small tuft of brown hair on the head. And, finally, newly opened, albeit slightly puffy, violet eyes looking into his own. She looked like… no, never mind that now.

His mother soon saw his inquisitive looks. Holding the newborn out towards him, she said "Here, you can hold her if you are very careful, okay?"

His arms slowly came up, and the baby was placed into his own small arms. While a little tough to hold, his mother was supporting him and watched him throughout the process.

"Her name is Nunnally, and she is your new sister. Isn't she lovely?"

He looked back at his new sister. Her infant eyes were now closed, resting for the time. She looked peaceful, happy even.

"Yes, Mother," he replied. "She is."

He stayed like that for a minute or two, holding the child under the watchful eye of his mother.

Eventually, however, the moment came to an end. His mother slowly removed her supporting arms and held them out to him. "Ok, Alfie, I need to see her back now. But you can see her again in a few hours, if you would like?"

"Of course,'' came the reply.

"Now," she began, after taking the infant back into her arms, "as you are so smart and old enough now, I think it is time for me to talk to you about something."

This was a little different than Alfonso was expecting. Talk about what? His mother had never really broached serious topics with him before, so this was a little unusual.

His mother, after readjusting the baby, continued speaking: "As the eldest sibling, you must help protect Lelouch and Nunnally in the future." She took his hand with her free one. "The world isn't the gentlest place, or the safest. Although, you probably already know that, you smart boy." She laughed lightly.

Then, she looked to his eyes.

"You love your brother and sister very much, don't you?"

It took only a moment of thought and a look at Nunnally to respond "Yes".

"Then could you promise your mother that you will protect them in the future, especially if she isn't there to do it herself?"

He thought about it.

He wanted to do better in this new life, to truly help others. But, so far, the dangers of this new life had only been in the back of his mind. He would need to take action at some point. In that case, he could start with his new siblings. Do better towards his new brother and sister, unlike his failures with the old.

Of course, he had understood that there would be some danger. While it may not be as bad as the previous succession crisis he had learned about a few decades earlier, danger would be everywhere, even for those like him and his siblings, so far low on the line of succession.

Looking at Nunnally, safe and cuddled in their mother's arms, he knew what his only option was.

He looked towards his mother. "Of course, Mother. I will protect them."

His mother's face soon sprouted a small smile. Turning towards a small button, she pressed it, with a small dinging noise being created. No less than twenty seconds later, a nurse rushed into the room, appearing tired, but happy. He appeared like the same one present for Alfonso's birth years earlier. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Please take Nunnally to the nursery and perform the health checks. But I would like to see her again within the next two hours, I will be taking a nap." She carefully handed the nurse the child.

"Yes, ma'am. The necessary physical and vitals checks should be completed within that time, as usual. Enjoy your nap", he chuckled. "You will need it in the coming days."

That elicited a small laugh. "Yes, yes, I know. After three times, I have the procedure down to a science." And, after being dismissed by Marianne, the nurse left the room, with Nunnally in tow.

Returning to Alfonso, she smiled once again, this time a little wider. "Thank you, Alfie. That means a lot to me. Now, come here and give Mother a hug." She beckoned him forward with her now empty arms.

He met them, being lifted up a bit and hugged for a few seconds. After letting go, she returned to laying down.

"Now run along, Alfie. Sorry for interrupting your reading, and I hope you will forgive me. I will be back at the Villa in a couple of days. Oh, and would you kindly find Lelouch for me? I wanted to say hi to him too."

How did she- oh, yeah, duh. The guards probably told her where he was when he was summoned. And that promise was probably why Lelouch had to wait as well. He would have protested to have needed protection, or just not understood it.

"Ok, mother. I love you."

She looked back to him as he was leaving. "I love you too, my dear boy."

And with that, he took his leave. Opening the door and looking back to his mother one last time, peacefully laying on the bed, he exited the room.

This life was certainly shaping up to be a little more interesting than the last. And he was alright with that.

* * *

He found Lelouch waiting on a chair outside, flanked both by his guard and Ashworth. As soon as he had left the room, Lelouch, seemingly told how things would go, immediately leapt up and dashed into the room, his own guard remaining outside.

Beginning his walk down the corridor, Alfonso thought more about the future. The promise had reminded him of the dangers that came with the position of royalty. Conflicts, both big and small, lethal or political, that could cause him to lose his new life so early into it.

Yes, he may just need to start making some plans. He had been enjoying life so far, content to just relax in his new body and act like the child he was until things got serious.

Well, life just slapped him in the face and showed that things are always serious.

Except he was a child, making any attempts at making plans involving others...unlikely, to say the least. No, the plans would need to start going into effect in a few years at the least. But, he could still start planning.

"Come now, your highness, we must make haste back to the Villa," Ashworth said, opening the door for him as they reached the car. "Since your English has already advanced so much, Her Majesty has decided that it would be beneficial to begin lessons in Latin as well. You wouldn't want to miss your lessons, would you?"

Ok, planning it was. Anything to get his mind away from the god-awful tutors.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Hello, all! Offtimeotaku here with the first update to my first story. so far, we have seen our protagonist get dropped into this world and having to cope with the changes. What wacky adventure will he go on next? Well, I am planning that out right now.

At this point in time, these early chapters are just setting some cornerstones. My plans for the story are incomplete, but I have everything up to and including the assassination planned. However, past that point, I have multiple conflicting plans on what happens to Alfonso, Lelouch, and Nunnally after the exile and war. Some involve China, some the EU, some Japan. All involve Alfonso, but some involve Nunnally and/or Lelouch. I would love to hear some suggestions or guesses as to the future of the story, so please take some time to write a review!

Now for review responses:

**notsofrilly: **Thank you! That is my first review as a writer. I agree with the lack of SI's, but Alfonso isn't exactly one of them. I am trying to make him more caring, credulous, and less pessimistic than myself. I hope that shows. Finally, as the story mentions now, Alfonso is older by about a year.

**Lancelot-07: **I thought about the Nunnally aspect, but I wanted to use her as a motivation in this story. I am writing short as this is my first story and it is more of an opening to the story early on. I haven't heard of that story before, but I might check it out later, and I do not plan on focusing much on those three at this time, I know too little about them.

Thank you guys for the reviews! Finally, I claim no ownership of the Code Geass plot or world, just my character.

Have a nice day!


	3. Whispers in the Shadows

It was another beautiful morning in the Britannian capital, Pendragon.

As the soft July sunlight began illuminating the towering skyscrapers and small parks that dotted the city, and both the people and the birds came out to begin their morning routines, the city truly awoke to face this new day head on.

Well, most of the city, at least.

* * *

As light began to stream through the trees and into the large corridors of the Aries Villa, located towards the center of the city, the excitement was in the air.

Soft footsteps could be heard, a rapid pitter-patter of small feet on the smooth, wooden floors that made up the interior. Said feet were rapidly approaching the desired destination: Brother Alfie's room.

The feet in question belonged to a beautiful little girl. Her brown hair, nearly reaching her neck, was neatly groomed and held into place with various hot pink ribbons. Several other such ribbons were present along her dress, which was light pink, with some lighter-shade fruffles also being included.

Her violet eyes stared excitedly ahead, mouth fixed in a wide, toothy grin, as the feet only picked up the pace.

"Nunnally, wait up, you're running too fast!," shouted a voice.

Following about twenty feet behind was the second figure. Short, raven black hair flowed as the small and slim body tried its hardest to catch up, but to no avail. This pair of violet eyes only contained weariness.

"Well, you're too slow! Hurry up!"

They both eventually made it to their destination, albeit one much, much later than the other. Bypassing Ashworth, who only looked on in amusement, the girl quickly opened the door. Upon seeing the occupant of the room sound asleep, she did the only thing that seemed right.

"ALFIE," she shouted, as her legs propelled her onto the bed.

* * *

_The sun had just begun to set in the distance. Not that he could see it very well with all the dizziness in his eyes. Was the world supposed to spin like that?_

"_C'mon, man, let's see how fast we can get this thing to go! PARTY!"_

"_Bro, I'm not too sure about this…"_

_Suddenly, two ghostly figures appeared at his sides. One, his friend, Tommy Peadlty. The other was… Jenny. But, that wasn't-_

_They were in the car. Tommy, the supposed "designated driver", was clearly drunk out of his mind, swerving all over the road. He was… laughing, right along with him._

"_Guys, can we please slow down, this isn't fun anymore!"_

"_Stop being a pussy back there, were fine!"_

"_But-"_

"_But nothing! I got this baby under control, and we're gonna take her to 90!"_

_No, no no no! He couldn't let it happen again. But he found himself doing nothing._

_Closer and closer, there was the curve, no no nononoNONONONO_

"ALFIE!"

His eyes rocketed open.

"AHH!"

His heart was pumping, cold sweat all around him. As he looked up, he was blind for a couple of seconds. However, when he could see, he made out the shape of a young girl.

Nunnally.

She was bouncing up and down right on his chest, and watching his face intensely.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up! It's time to go!"

To go?

Oh, yeah, the trip. He almost forgot about it.

It was only a dream, he told himself. That life was long ago. It wouldn't happen again. He must move on.

Taking a few deep breaths (quite difficult with his sister crushing his ribs), he turned his attention to her. "Okay, okay, I get it! I'm coming!" He then countered her attack by rolling out from under her, which caused her to lose her balance and fall onto the bed sheets, and commenced the tickling.

"Alf-AHAHA, STO-AHHAAHAH"

Nunnally had certainly grown up in the last few years. She was still a child, yes, but she was showing early signs of intelligence, and had an empathy and good-humored nature that he could only be jealous over. They got along very well, sharing in playing around with others.

After a good half-minute of revenge-tickling, he decided that she had enough. Getting up from on top of her and letting her go, he couldn't stop a few chuckles from escaping.

"That wasn't funny!" she protested, as she also began to recover. Alfie's response was simply to pat her on the top of her head.

"It's never funny when it happens to ourselves." Her pout didn't really lessen, but he could tell that she understood.

After they both fully untangled and sat down on the bed, he noticed a rather conspicuous absence.

"Where's Brother?" he questioned, still attempting to relax back in bed.

She looked a little guilty and playful at the same time. "He couldn't keep up with me, so I left him behind!"

At that moment, the door opened again. A slightly disheveled Lelouch walked in, with clear sweat rolling down his face. There was the target of their playfulness. Lelouch, looking all fancy in his white royal outfit. They were also close, but not as much as he and Nunnally. He put up with their torment, but he felt it was more for Nunnally than him.

Alfonso turned his attention from Nunnally and studied him.

"You know… you need to exercise more, Brother. Unless that liquid on your face is from a rainstorm, you won't survive the week!"

He was met with a cold gaze, slightly undercut by the wheezing of its owner.

"Well, you need to get dressed properly. Some things are more important than exercise, Brother."

"Like what, chess? "Proper" dress? Well, that's no excuse!" He got off the bed, with Nunnally simply watching. "We need to get you in shape. In fact… let's start now."

"Start… what?"

"Why, your new training regime, of course!" Reaching over, Alfonso grabbed the cup of water from his bedside. "Well, it's either that, or an actual storm. Take your pick." Cue smile.

And cue slight panic. "You wouldn't!"

That was also undercut by the steps being taken towards the doorway.

And by the cheers of the peanut gallery.

"Get him, Alfie!"

He hatched an idea. "Your right, Brother. I would not." Turning towards his sister, he continued. "In fact, why don't _you_ get him, Sis." He handed her the cup. "After all, _Mother _Nature is a maiden, is she not?"

She took the cup, smile ever present.

And then she looked to Lelouch.

Hopping off the bed, she studied her target. Who was hiding behind the door at this point.

"Nunnally, we can talk about this…"

"GET HIM, SIS!"

And cue the charge.

"AHHHHH"

As Lelouch ran and Nunnaly chased, Alfonso simply followed them from afar, watching.

Oh, how fun it was to be a child again. He would have to enjoy these moments while they lasted.

* * *

She was just playing in her room like the boring guard had said to. Where was Lelouch. Nunnally? Alfonso? She was so _bored_.

Then came the rapid footsteps outside. What was that?

"AHHHHH! HELP ME, ANYONE! PLEASE!"

"STOP RUNNING AWAY LELOUCH!"

That was them!

She hopped off the bed, old plushies long forgotten. Opening the door, she saw Nunna chasing Lelouch. Why wasn't she invited!?

"Hey, wait up!", she yelled, getting the attention of both participants.

Nunnally noticed her first. "Oh, hi Milly!"

Lelouch seizing his chance, rushed behind her. "Milly, please help me!"

Noticing his panicked look, she turned to Nunna. "What's going on?"

She smiled a little. And so did Nunna.

"Alfie said to splash Lelouch with the water, but he won't stay still!"

Lelouch looked slightly angered and confused. "He didn't say that!"

"Yes, he did!"

"No, he didn't!"

As they bickered, Milly made her choice. It was quite obvious, really. This way, she wouldn't be bored! Thinking this, she then proceeded to throw herself back, tripping up Lelouch and causing him to fall!

"GET HIM, NUNNA!"

"AHHHHH"

"NOOO"

Needless to say, when the guard to Milly's room returned from the restroom, he stumbled upon a soaked Prince Lelouch glaring at Princess Nunnally and his charge, Miss Ashford. Oh, this wouldn't be fun to deal with. He needed a raise.

* * *

"Has the final approval been given by the district generals?"

It was still very early, the sun had barely risen. Two figures, traveling by car, were rapidly approaching the beating heart of Pendragon: the Palace.

The first figure, the male who had just spoken, was mostly obscured by a large, grey cloak. Shimmers of red and a little yellow could be seen under it, while tufts of blonde hair dangled out of the top.

The second figure, a female dressed in a grey suit, red sash, and black, yellow, and red hat of a palace guard replied: "Of course it has. Did you expect anything else?"

"Well, sorry for being thorough. Things can not afford to go wrong."

The woman laughed. "Its been months of planning. Do you doubt our foresight and intelligence?"

"Always."

She then looked a little more serious. "Ah, remnants from your past. Best to get rid of that quickly. Doubt just won't do." She chuckled. "Well, at least I'm not in your shoes."

She dare bring that incident up? No, now wasn't the time. The male simply filed his anger away for a later date. This was too important to mess up. "The final meeting is being prepared. I assume your _true _leader is prepared to meet with me?"

She took on a look of mock shock. "You say I would dare betray my Emperor?"

He deadpanned. "Yes. Money can do that to a person."

Her face signaled her surrender. "Very well, be like that. You are to meet him in ten minutes, and God help you if you are late. Good luck to you."

"Why would I need luck?" His face, at least what could be seen of it, showed genuine confusion. "He can't be that bad."

"I never said _bad _per say," came the reply. "Simply… abnormal."

* * *

After the excitement of the morning (and after Lelouch changed his clothes and Nunnally calmed down), it was time to finish preparations.

Alfonso looked at his wardrobe, which was filled with everything from official royal dress to simple shirts or night pants. His etiquette teacher attempted to disavow him from the latter two but… let's just say he failed. And got a small "talking to" by his mother. He wasn't in public, so he could do what he wanted.

Choosing a mix of white royal uniforms, "commoner" outfits, and silk pajamas, he packed his suitcase. His mother was the one attempting to talk him out of that one, saying they could get all new clothes and supplies on the coast, but he preferred keeping some things… more simple.

She really could be too indulgent in the wealth, sometimes.

As he finished, he looked around once, making entirely sure he was alone. Nobody could see this, least of all Ashworth. Then, he ducked under his bed, opened the loose wooden planks beneath it, and removed the pistol he had taken from one of the guards a few months ago when they dozed off.

Would he need it? Likely not. Would their vacation to the North be filled with fun and good times? He didn't doubt it. Would trouble arise? No, he was only a kid for Christ's sake!

But it still pays to be prepared.

Checking the ammunition quickly, two clips of six rounds, he thanked himself for taking those self-defense classes so long ago. Or else he wouldn't know how a safety worked, wouldn't that be embarrassing?

Finishing up, he placed the gun in his right pant leg, took the suitcase off the bed, looked around one last time, and exited the room.

"Are you finished packing your items, Alfonso?"

He looked to the side. Of course, Ashworth was there. His new personal guard, it had taken a little while to make him call him by his own name, but it eventually worked. One can only resist a nagging child for so long, you know.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"Perfect, then we must depart immediately, or we shall be late."

Late?

"No, I don't wanna be late! C'mon, let's go!"

And then he started running, leaving Ashworth to have to quickly start and run after him. It was fun messing with the adults.

* * *

"Have the necessary preparations been completed?"

The room was dark, lit only with a few candles in the center of the meeting hall. Located underneath the palace, it needed to stay low-key to hide from those were untrusted. A room built for a few dozen to be seated comfortably, only one chair was occupied, with another figure standing to the side.

It was the weirdest figure who had spoken, the one sitting down, but his importance was above the other, so he needed a response

"Yes, my lord. The agents are in position. Only a few of the loyal remain, but they will be of no use to the target when the time comes, that I can assure you."

The other figure, dressed in the grey and red uniform with the markings of a colonel, along with several medals seated on his chest, answered with confidence. "This M-1 of yours will be unaware of your involvement, as will everybody else."

The other figure looked confused. "Oh? Well, naturally. I would expect nothing less." But then, he smiled. "However, if it turns out to go wrong… let's just say I shall have a new toy to play with either way." The creepy, sadistic laughter following said remarks only made the other figure sweat more internally.

"I assure you, my lord, the plan will succeed. He is a child, and every action that a child would take has been accounted for."

At that, the other figure stopped laughing, adopting a slightly more serious look. "Oh, a child? Maybe. But few children could do what that… _thing_… has. We shall see, yes. And if he happens to break under pressure, then it will no longer matter."

His contact was right. He really was an abnormal person. Child? Thing, even? "What has he done that is so extraordinary, my lord?"

The cold, heartless stare given in return emphasized the message. "If I wanted your tiny brain to know, then I would tell you. Now, go be a loyal little dog and betray your "master"." He motioned for the little stain to leave, and he did.

While still wondering what he had gotten himself into.

After he had left, the remaining figure began chuckling to himself.

"After all, you must be careful who you trust to guard those close to you. Shouldn't you know that, Marianne?"

* * *

He had only just arrived at the airport. As far as he knew, he and Ashworth were the last to arrive, especially since the others didn't need to pack any bags.

Exiting the car, he expected to go inside and meet up with the others.

That plan soon burned alive.

"Fonsie!"

The new shout attracted his attention. Only one person used _that_ name. Quickly looking to the left, all he saw was a car that had defiantly just arrived and a glimpse of pink. For the second time in the day, he found himself pinned on the ground.

"Euphie!" He returned the shout, and hugged her back.

Euphemia, another half-sibling. She rivaled Nunnally in cuteness, with her shining pink hair grown out to her waist, sitting atop a cute frilly blue dress and a small, aquamarine bow in her hair. Her eyes were almost the same as his own, with a slight bluish tint. They got along well.

He did really wonder about that hair color, though.

"Ready to go see the ocean?" he asked, once she had let go.

She adopted a more solemn look, made that much worse by how unnatural it looked on her. "Yes, but I want Cornelia to go, too."

Ah, this.

"Euphie, you know she would come if she could. She loves you. But she needs to train if she wants to be a great soldier, and they don't let her out for anything outside of tragedy."

Especially since she asked to be treated like a regular soldier at the academy.

Her sulking didn't really let up. "I know, but…"

"We can have fun together, can't we?"

She looked back up at him, but still seemed a little down. "Yes, I guess…"

He really did forget how children typically thought. Being more ignorant about the large scale and focusing on the small. Time for Plan B.

Rushing towards her, he began rapidly tickling and poking her in the sides, causing them both to fall to the ground laughing.

"Hey, stop that!" she managed to get out between laughs.

He stopped. Getting up, he brushed off his clothes quickly, while Euphie remained on the ground for a moment. Then, he repeated the question. "So ya ready to have some fun?"

She responded as she was getting up, with her response being more enthusiastic this time. "Yeah!"

He patted himself on the back internally. Now, all that was needed were the rest of the group. "Ok then. Now, let's go get the others."

They then departed together, walking towards the entrance to the airport and ever closer to the New England coast.

* * *

The meeting took place in the early morning, but the sunlight was not present. The guard's briefing room, located below the Villa in order to keep it protected from attack, allowed none of it in through its thick, steel reinforced concrete walls.

Thirty-three men stood towards the center of the room, squeezed in together looking towards the front as they received their briefings. Captain Archer Reynolds, looking stern as ever, stood in front of a projector, with the beaches of New England that the royal children would be visiting being depicted.

He was an imposing figure, with a rectangular, thin face. His age of fifty-eight was clearly showing, but his eyes only showed ferocity and sternness. Achieving one of the higher non-noble rank in the military usually did that to a person.

The briefing was just finishing up, and all the men had their assignments. It would be a textbook operation, thought the veteran guards. Even with most of the other core guards being off on exchange.

Then, the unexpected happened. Captain Reynolds looked up from the presentation and, with disdain ever-present in his eyes, did his best to glare certain individuals to death.

"Taylor, Larson, Greene, Forrest, and Willards. Exit this room immediately and get your asses topside. Reinforce Delta squad at the airport and stay there. There are to be no interruptions, you hear me?"

What?

Why were the only remaining original guards being sent away? Shouldn't everybody get the same briefing, like every other time?

Greene tried objecting. "But, my lord, protocol-"

Reynolds looked absolutely pissed now. "You can take your protocol and fuck it, Greene. Unless you want to spend the rest of your career shoveling shit in Georgia, get your ass moving! Do you understand, chicken shit!"

"Yes, my lord!"

Quickly shouting off the go-to command for when you piss off an officer, Greene and the others quickly rushed out of the room, leaving the area entirely and heading to the awaiting plane a few miles away.

Immediately after, Greene reached for and turned on his radio, ignoring the others in the room for the moment. "R-1, Plan A-3 is a go."

The door opened. In walked a new figure. Dressed in grey and yellow, with special designations on the shoulders signaling his rank as the leader of Pendragon's guard force, he was an imposing figure known to all in the room. Tall, blonde, and confident, with a little stubble and piercing blue eyes.

"Here are your men, Colonel Rathers," stated the Captain.

* * *

Colonel Aaron Rathers surveyed the men. These were what he was given to carry out the mission?

All of them looked normal. But the fire in their eyes was anything but, even for new recruits it would be overkill. Why did they need such men for a small operation? Except for that intimidating figure earlier, everything was supposed to be easy.

He was just a normal soldier-turned-spy for Britannia in the military until... _that_. After that, just a normal guard who eventually got promoted to the head of guards in the Pendragon area, excluding the Emperor's personal one, for his distinguished service and "high" loyalty. Quite grand for a non-noble, but he had wanted more.

He was approached earlier in the year by members of the Emperor's guard about his "easy" mission, and was offered the title of Baron. Not high on the list, but a start. He wanted so desperately to ask why this was being done, why a kid mattered at all to the one he now served. He also wanted to know the identity of his new superior. All he knew was that he was close to the palace, which is the only reason he accepted the job. He didn't like to go in blind.

But, still, he was paid and bribed to not ask questions, and so be it. It didn't seem nearly as risky as the eve had been decades ago, and he had read up on the child. Not much there. He wouldn't risk this opportunity.

Turning to them, he began his address.

"Men, you all know the true reason for why you are here, and what you must do. Your backgrounds in the "guard exchange" are also not being questioned. However, your leader has stressed to you the importance of secrecy." His face turned more serious.

"Only address those you know to be in on the plan. Keep your eyes out for surprises. Abandon your part of the plan if confronted by superiors, but inform the others immediately."

"And, for the emperor's sake, don't take your eyes off the target."

Even under these circumstances, he would hold by the same rules of secrecy that he had always done when he was a spy. Nothing less would suffice.

"Do you all understand?"

A chorus of "Yes, my lord!" was all the response he needed.

Time to finish this. "All hail Britannia"

They all shouted back "All hail Britannia!"

And all hail his new noble rank, when he pulled this off.


	4. The Great Escape

The day has come.

Alfonso was laying in his king-sized bed for what seemed like hours. He had spent the day on the beach, chasing Lelouch with sand alongside Milly and helping Nunnally build a castle. His eyelids threatened to drop downwards, sending him into the abyss too early. Well, that's as what coffee was for. Thank god the kitchen was always operating. He could not afford to sleep at this time.

All preparations had been made. He was ready. The time was now.

It was in the dead of night, simply three and a half days after their arrival. The stars were glistening, animals howling, and the manor was simply dead.

That was how it was at night. All the servants, resting in their quarters as to not disturb the royal guests. Only the guard force was awake at this hour, and even that was relatively scarce inside, with most guard posts and heavy weapons located outside, constantly scanning for unauthorized entrance.

But not exit.

Hopefully.

He studied up all he could. Guard rotations. Servant duties and shifts. Camera placement, as well as what cameras were actually watched and which were simply viewed later on. And especially the escape tunnels.

That was the great thing about the Georges Estate on Long Island. All royally-owned lands used by the Britannian Royal Family had such escape tunnels. After the multitude of assassination attempts by former republicans on Ricardo von Britannia after the Humiliation of Edinburgh (damn him), all such buildings were mandated to have such tunnels. They have come in handy in the past.

As they would for him now.

Why was he attempting to escape, you might ask? Why leave behind Nunnally, Lelouch, Milly, and Euphie? It was simple: he was curious.

Oh, he saw the news all the time. Spoke about the great manufacturing sector overperforming industrial quotas. Espoused the benefits of the corporate sector. Had on great pieces of how one Britannian here managed to rise up to lead a corporation or how another managed to defeat his cheating wife's mistress in a sword duel through sheer force of will (Yes, dueling was legal. They upheld honor to a ridiculous degree).

He wanted to see it. For a while, he was content to simply relax and age normally in the beauty of the palace, working out how to do the most amount of good and to protect his siblings. And then the trip occurred.

His guard's had a large reluctance to take him into the nearby city. He didn't know why. New York here, much like where he came from, was marveled as a center of finance and, in this world, of industry and production. Why wouldn't they want to show him the might of Britannia?

He thought a little about it. Security concerns were most likely, he supposed. Then, of course, propaganda could play a part. He had thought about it, a government lying to its citizens to quell discontent. He was in an empire, after all. However, he wanted to see for himself. Proper conclusions could only be based on unbiased observation and judgement, after all. And, since the guards wouldn't take him, his family wouldn't take him, and he didn't want to get anybody in trouble by asking the staff or more guards, escaping was the only option.

So, he would escape look around the city. The propaganda idea was just a hunch, he admitted to himself, but it wouldn't do any harm to look. For all he knew, the empires of this world acted differently towards their own citizens, and really were more progressed than he had thought.

He would soon find out.

For the hundredth time, he looked over to the clock. 2:45. Perfect.

Glancing quickly towards the door, he slowly shifted his weight and swung his legs off the bed. Then, with a huff, he quickly pushed himself off and landed on the thick carpet. His pajamas were on, but he wore a simple shirt and jeans underneath. Quickly moving towards the large closet, he stepped inside and found the pistol where he had left it: tapped in the innards of a drawer.

Removing it, he performed the proper safety checks and made sure the safety was on. After becoming satisfied, he harnessed it around his jeans under his pajamas.

He walked towards the door. Listened. The guard was there, but breathing slow. He chose this time for an obvious reason: the guard was almost off-duty at three, and would just want to be done with it by now to sleep.

He opened the door as silently as he could. The guard was facing away from him. Perfect.

Shutting it quietly, he tried his best to look like he was half-asleep. Then, he quickly brushed against the guard, which got his attention.

* * *

Just fifteen minutes left. Perfect.

He wanted to sleep so badly. Twelve hour shifts had always been the worst, especially since nothing was going to happen. Ashworth was supposed to be the Prince's guard, but even that security nut had to sleep. Damn.

Still, at least he wasn't one of the poor sods outside, constantly having to move and watch. He could just stand still and-

Bump.

Something hit his leg. Turning around, he noticed that the door was opened. That was strange. Looking down, he saw the Prince, violet eyes looking up to him wearily.

"My Lord! Is everything okay?," he quickly rambled off.

His charge didn't seem to respond for a minute. Finally, all he got was a "Sorry. Bathroom."

Before he could respond, the Prince simply started to walk off down the west hall, towards the bathrooms.

Well, he supposed, that would make this an interesting shift. Fifteen minutes later, when his replacement came along, the Prince was still not back. However, it was no longer his problem, so he left for the evening to go to the barracks and rest. What could have happened, anyways?

Needless to say, he would shortly thereafter be fired and nearly killed by a very pissed off (and _terrifying_) mother.

Yeah… that could happen.

* * *

He made it.

To be honest, he was terrified that it would fail, that his acting wouldn't be good enough. But, it was, so he continued on.

After slowly shambling down to the end of the highly decorated hall (really, what hall needed so many portraits of landscapes and fancy rugs?), he quickened his pace once the guard was out of sight. Then, quiet as he could (and thankful for the lack of security cameras this deep in the mansion), he found his way to one of the libraries.

This one was the historical archives area of the building, he remembered. Structured as a library, with shelves upon shelves of books and a few couches littering the floor, it contained a wealth of knowledge on the political, economic, social, and cultural history of the world, but focused on Britannia.

And, as it just so happened, this was the location of the escape passage.

Thankfully, as a noble, all the information about the escape passages was open to him. In fact, it was a requirement to know wherever they went.

Struggling through the room in the darkness, with only moonlight from the grand windows to guide him, he stumbled. Hitting the floor, he quickly ignored the pain to look around, scanning the surroundings. Thankfully, nobody heard.

Picking himself back up, he eventually found his way to the center of the left wall. A grand bookcase awaited him. Multitudes of leather-covered books on each beautifully crafted wooden shelf, it was a thing of beauty.

But he didn't care about that for the moment.

He got to looking. While it was indeed a dimly lit night, he was still able to read the titles, albeit after a moment. And, after a few minutes, he finally found his target.

_The Ascent of Britannian Shipbuilding in the 19th Century_, by Phillip Newman.

Thinking back on it, he chuckled. Not one person would ever care about ships, especially not so long ago, when it consisted of nailing some wood together and putting some guns and men on the result. That was the trick to the thing. Make it boring, and nobody will notice. Clever.

Taking hold of the soft leather spine, he slowly and carefully pulled the book back. While the top began to move outwards, the bottom remained fixed, as if it were super-glued to the hardwood below.

And then, after a point, a soft _click_ was heard. Success!

Slowly placing the book back to its rightful position, he grabbed the edge of the bookcase and, with a moderate amount of force, pulled it open.

The result? A staircase emerged, bright and steep, that traveled into the well-lit corridor below. Elegant carvings made their way down the sides of the stairs and continued to infinity, with a nice blue carpet cushioning the floor. Even in emergencies, the nobles just had to be fancy, didn't they? Taking one last, brief look behind him, he journeyed forwards.

Unaware of the pair of eyes watching him from the other side of the room.

* * *

So late. But the excitement from earlier was too much to allow for much sleep! Even if the tiredness was extreme, they would brave through it!

The beach was amazing! The sand, the games, the dolphins… even though they weren't able to pet one.

Yeah… that was sad. But the other stuff was fun! Maybe they would get to do it again tomorrow!

They watched the T.V. until late into the night, determined to stay awake. And… like any child trying to do such a thing, they collapsed onto the bed within the hour.

Until… they woke up. At 2:40. In discomfort and pressure. Yeah… maybe they shouldn't have tried to drink so much chocolate milk. But Alfie started it!

Getting up (after sadly realizing their failure to stay awake), they quickly rushed out and, with only a quick word to the guard, standing vigil as usual, they rushed to the bathrooms located just down the hall.

* * *

They were finished. Now they could return to bed. They had to wake up early in the morning, it was parasailing day with the others!

Quickly exiting the bathroom, they started to make their way back to their room. They were quite sleepy, however, and made slow progress of it. _Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foo-_

_Bang!_

Whut?

Their sleepy mind, while dulled, still heard the rather loud crashing noise. It came from the left corridor, didn't it?

Now more awake (but still shambling a little), they walked down the hall, peering into the opened rooms of the central dining room, secondary welcoming room, and a library. Wait, there! Motion!

Light!

Slowly walking into the library, she saw a figure going through… a hall? In the wall? What was that…

Wait, Alfie!

The light had suddenly illuminated him, so they could see his face, even from this grand distance.

What was he doing? Was he going on an adventure. They wanted to go, too! And they could also sneak up on him for what he did earlier on the beach, if they timed it right!

And so, Prince Alfonso gained a partner in his quest (even if he remained unaware of said fact).

Although… maybe they shouldn't have ignored the camera placed above the entrance way while leaving. Great job, guys.

* * *

"My Lord, urgent information from Sector L-2!"

This room in particular was out of place in a mansion of such grandeur as the Georges Estate. Instead of velvet or wooden floors, it boasted one of solid steel and concrete, which also made up the walls. No paintings were present, instead substituted by the multitudes of television screens scattered around the room, each group of which having a second-rate member of the Second Guard Division keeping vigil over the goings on of the mansion.

At the head of the room, Colonel Aaron Rathers was rather pissed off.

Normally, he could sleep in at this time, pushing his duties off to the Lieutenant for the night. Tonight, however, he now had other plans. Being woken up by an urgent presence alarm in his room would do that.

Teeth bared, he went for the aggressive approach, if for nothing else than to vent off some steam. Speaking to the figure behind him, he growled out: "What, Private, is so goddamn important as to not wait a few hours!"

The private, while terrified and shrinking back, still had to deliver the news.

"M-my Lord! Security footage in corridor E-4 has picked up movement from multiple figures!"

E-4?

His face softened slightly from its anger. That was serious.

E-4 was one of the escape tunnels, which are only to be used in emergencies. Unguarded, as to ensure its secrecy, it should never be used unless as a last-ditch escape from a threat. And all the royals were accounted for. So that left outside penetration.

His mind raced. Could it be assassins? Heaven knew there were too many of those, noble or foreign. Terrorists? Foreign or domestic? Either way, his mission couldn't be put in jeopardy so soon. He needed his nobility tickets alive.

After a moment of thought, he spoke quickly and forcefully.

"Give me all relevant information. How many figures? Profiles? Weaponry and location?"

Nervous and slightly shaking from his superiors anger and the suddenness of the situation, the other man quickly tried to supply answers.

"There w-were two figures seen, M-my Lord. Seen exiting Sector L-2 at a 2-minute interval. They appear to be _Ardent _and _Optim, _based off of their figures in the lighting."

"Ah, I see…"

His worries died out in his chest, replaced with urgent plans, but also anger. So it wasn't an attack, but some sort of escape? This… would complicate matters, but it was recoverable. But the question was why. Both why they did it and why it _happened _at all.

"Goddamnit, how did they get out Private! Full status report, right now!" He sounded livid.

"It is u-unknown at this time how either got out, My Lord, but both had-_were_, in the bathrooms. Their movements afterwards were-_are_, unknown."

Well, that was unfortunate. He turned to the nearest monitor, one of the few permanently stationed at the manor and not part of his group. "You there, where in the hell were the guards at the tunnel!?"

The woman, after taking off her headphones, simply looked to him, unperturbed by his shouting. "No guards are stationed there, My Lord, as it would be useless to have them there in the instance of an attack, would it not?"

"Well, they were clearly needed today!"

She still was calm. Probably due to her position. He couldn't touch her. Not in his purview. "Well, the incompetence of the guards in charge of guests had not been needed to be taken into account. At least, until today, _My Lord_.

He had enough. "Get back to your station, Sergeant."

"Yes, My Lord."

After a moment, he calmed. Punishment could be handed out later. Turning back to the private, who to this point looked like he wanted to leave, he stated, "You may return to duty Private, I shall handle it from here".

The private, wanting to leave, decided to overcome his fear to sate his own curiosity.

"But, My Lord, what about the plan? Only _Ardent_ was supposed to be targeted."

"Yes, yes, I know the plan, I damn well created it!"

Not expecting the sudden viciousness, the private shriveled back, but the Colonel wasn't quite finished. Adopting a more pacified and inquisitive look rather than the murderous one he held a second ago, he contemplated.

"However… you do raise a valid point. The plan shall be adjusted."

He smiled. It's not like he cared for the brats or anything. Pawns in a larger, more personal game.

"They won't get far. No matter how far the pesky little ants may run, the boot will come down eventually. It's just a matter of time."

"Yes, my lord!"

Feeling better now, the private proceeded to return to his station.

And the Colonel began to make his plan.

* * *

He made it. Again.

It seemed like hours. The maze of tunnels, all draped with the same red carpets and velvet couches and nice lights and small tables and-

Well, you get the point. Although, it didn't surprise him the least bit that even the escape tunnels would be so lavish. Nobody took attack's serious nowadays, so their looks outweighed their usefulness.

At least they still _were_ useful.

Opening the last wooden door with a _creeek_, he stumbled out into the world.

The trees were dense in this part of the forest. It didn't serve any actual purpose, but the woods near the estate were simply kept for aesthetics and hunting. That explained the running deer.

It was nice to be back out amongst nature again. It had been years. He was never allowed to go out in his time at the palace, so being amongst the true world again just felt… _natural_.

Stumbling his way towards the nearby creek, he decided it was time for a rest. His mind might be old, but the body was young. Too young. Couldn't be counted on to last this long.

"I'll… just rest a moment," he said to himself, for assurance more than anything.

He laid down. "Yes...rest….."

He was asleep within the minute.

* * *

Tingling.

Discomfort.

Shuffling.

_Pressure._

He was up in an instant, forcing his body awake. Where was he? Who was that blur?

He had no idea where he was. And that was a bad thing.

He darted for a weapon of some sorts. Something, anything, that could help him. _Save_ him. His right hand closed around a small tree branch next to the creek shore. It would have to do.

He got up quickly, trying to find the figure again. His eyes, by this time, had recovered. But he saw nothing.

_Crunch!_

There!

It was behind him. He started his swing. He wouldn't go down without a fight. He was prepared to do what he could.

Looking back on it, he would have to say it was the pink that stopped him. What type of enemy would wear it? Too late to stop the swing, he repositioned it towards the feet, instead of the chest. It was good that he did.

Impact.

"OW!"

That voice… but she couldn't be here!

He looked. It was indeed her. She was on the ground, holding her foot covered in nothing but a slipper. Her bright-pink nightgown was… _unsuited _for the conditions, to say the least. Tears were spilling from her eyes. She was crying.

"Alfie...why...Brother," she got out in between sobs.

He ran over to her, trying to put pressure on her foot and help her.

"Nunnally, what are you doing out here!?"

* * *

Hello all! Offtimeotaku here again.

Sorry if the upload is a little later than expected, but it will be like that from now on due to… life events. Mostly classes. Ugh. But, that's life.

Anyways, reviews!

**JustAShadow4: **Why, thank you. I will try my hardest to not end this story abruptly. I will see it out to the end!

**Amir-015:** Certainly a possibility, but I have not written romance before, so it might not be up to par in this story. I will try, however, and that pairing is one of about three I am thinking about so it's a solid maybe.

Next time, we will see what happens when two unescorted children begin to wander the streets of town, and what plans are being put into motion. Just what is special about Alfonso? We shall soon see.

While your here, go ahead and write a review! I like to read them, and as long as they aren't vague and malicious criticism or blatant advertisement, they are welcome!

That's all from me for today. I own nothing of Code Geass and the only aspects which are mine are the OC's used in this story.

Have a nice day!


	5. Cat and Mouse

He didn't want to do this. He really didn't want to do this. But, life sometimes presented you with a problem you can't solve, that must be solved. Especially if said problem involved royalty. And failure. And stupidity.

Rock, meet hard place.

He had spent the hour planning. Well, after he had loaded his veins up with some sweet, oh-so-precious caffeine he spent the hour planning. It was still close to 3:00 AM, after all.

He was presented with two problems at the moment, but to be fair, some benefits. HE wouldn't be blamed for this incident, the normal security would. If for no other reason than to maintain that the security of the royal family's personal guard was infallible. Besides, his success would mean his position would be safe.

It would also be easier to take the target now, out in the world without support. His earlier machinations to get him out of the building had been sound, but still carried inherent risk in the form of the non-in-on-it members of the security detail. This made it so much better.

But they didn't offset the setbacks. First, the princess. He had thought quite a bit about this point. She… _wasn't _supposed to be involved. At all. Preferably, she would have remained in the estate, _quiet and ignorable_, until the deed was carried out. But, if he got what he preferred, he wouldn't be sitting at this fucking desk at 3 in the fucking morning, now would he?

Either way, he figured out a solution. He didn't know what his employer wanted out of this, but he would get it. A little extra… _incentive_ for the Prince. That would be what she was, to help him break and reveal… _whatever_.

Especially if it stopped himself from breaking. That was not an… acceptable turn of events.

"Now, onto the point of this little meeting. Why, exactly, do you need my help _now_ of all times? It's three in the goddamn morning, and while you might not sleep, _some of us do!"_

And… there's his third problem. The second, you might ask? That was what this third problem was _supposed _to solve. If he didn't throttle the short, red-haired little shit first.

But, still. Politeness. If nothing less than to get his help. He could clobber him afterwards.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your sleep (he wasn't), but I need an experienced (available) agent to work on a mission that has gone… sideways."

The other man, watching him up until now quite intensely, brought the corners of his aging mouth up into a ravenous smile, shortly followed by laughter. "So, the little Agent Dashing finally needs help from me, eh? Something certainly must have gone down the shitter for this one!"

As much as he loathed to admit it, he was right. Right, but also insufferably an idiot.

He simply sighed, looking at his opposite in his mocking, but slightly… _curious_, eyes. "I don't expect you to help for nothing. I'm calling in the favor."

The red-head looked a little taken aback, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Ten years, and you finally call it in, eh?" He stared, but broke out into a grin. "Be good to have your dead weight off for good. So, who do you need murdered?"

"I'm not in need of that today, it's not as bad as that. It is simply… surveillance of a missing target."

"What!" His fist came down onto the table rather loudly, shaking it in his expression of anger. "Do you really not have one experienced asshole in your little club that could do simple tracking, boy!?" He continued to himself; "Useless little shits, all of them…"

This was why he didn't want to deal with this man. All the insults, negativity, and constant complaints about others…

...while still having the skills that he is never able to be called out on it. Ever since his spy days, when he met the man, he despised him, and more so than just as a superior. But, still, to the topic at hand.

"The target is a child. Five foot two, black hair, violet eyes. Likely traveling with a girl. You can figure out the rest."

Well, who said he couldn't attempt to annoy him, just a little.

Standing up slowly, eyes never leaving Rathers, Saunders began to stroll around the room, smiling. "That's all I need, boy!"

He began thinking to himself, with nothing visibly betraying his thoughts. Slowly shifting his weight foot to foot, he strode around the room, silently, always in a defensive stance. Finally, after a few dozen seconds, he seemed to come upon a revelation.

"I see… you've lost the little royals!" The dwarf's stupid mouth opened, and the laughter that spewed forth hurt his ears.

Rathers cringed inwardly, but kept a solid expression. He gritted out: "Yes, now can you get them back for me, and do your job?"

His laughter died out in an instant, snuffed out like a candle. He stared, angrily, and it honestly scared the Colonel. It was a predator, not man, on the other end, and no matter how many times he has seen it, he hasn't gotten used to it. The prey never does.

"You want me to do my job, do you?" He began to approach the Colonel.

"I will do my job. I will go out there, find the little shits, and inform your lazy ass sitting in that chair what exactly is going on." He stepped closer.

"I will update you on their position. Their status. Their words. Every goddamn breath they take will be recorded so your excuse of a military organization can do what you please."

And closer.

"I will do so until you get what you goddamn want, you little chicken shit. Until midnight, when I will finally be free from our little deal."

He stopped, just short of the table.

"And do you know why?"

Rathers just looked at him, honestly too scared to talk, but unwilling to give ground, he attempted to look back.

Because unlike you, I DO MY FUCKING JOB!"

He pounded the table, _hard._ The metal, built to withstand above-ordinary forces, _bent_. The indent would be difficult to fix, if it could be.

"Unlike you, _boy_."

His mouth was dry, body shaking, and leg rapidly tapping. He wanted out.

"I...understand. My man will be in touch. Now… just get out."

Turning away from the Colonel, the Major, and Special Agent, William Leopards, nicknamed Bloody Bill, stood to attention, doing a half-assed salute. The Colonel was a superior, after all.

"Gladly, _boy_."

Beginning to leave, he made it to the door before turning around one last time.

"Although, if I were you, I wouldn't want this to get out to, oh, a certain Empress, now would I?"

He hit a nerve there.

"She… will be informed of the incident after they are retrieved." Or never, whichever came last. He could always blame the manor's head of security. Even he didn't know if they would be found, though wouldn't care if they simply just… disappeared.

"Oh?", questioned the Major. Reaching into his uniform, he pulled out a small, rectangular device. "I think she will be hearing rather earlier than you expected, _sir."_

And then he left. And the Colonel had a whole new problem to handle. One his life likely depended on.

There went his sleep for the day. God damn him.

* * *

The birds were chirping, a sweet melody that blended together with the early incoming sunlight. The trees had a certain glow about them, and the woodland creatures were also beginning to stir, preparing to begin their own day of hunting and grazing.

Sadly, the scene caused by Alfonso had ruined the perfect picture.

He hated himself for it, and it never should have occurred. But, it had. In his rush to defend himself, he hurt his sister, Nunnally. What she was even doing out here was still a mystery, but here she sat. Crying on the ground under the trees.

Sure, they had played around before, fighting in the lush grasses of the Villa, and they may have caused some bruises or scratches to form on the other, but he was never malicious. This, however, was different entirely. It was purposeful. And it would have hurt. Thankfully, at least, he had the strength of the child that he was. Otherwise, the situation would be altogether worse.

But, that thinking could wait. He couldn't just stand by as his sister was hurt. After his initial exclamation of surprise, he quickly slid over to her side, attempting to put pressure on the wound, to hug her, to do anything to help.

As he tried, she flinched. Looking up at him between small sobs, she quickly pulled back.

"No! Go away!"

She quickly attempted to shift herself backwards, but instead she fell, ending up on her back and hurting her foot more.

He tried again, moving towards the young girl and attempting to look at the wound.

"No, stop!"

She still attempted to move away. He realized that she was probably afraid. He had never hurt her before, and she had never been hurt. So, he tried a third time, wrapping her in a hug instead. However, this was made rather difficult by her position and constant squirming to get out. After a moment, however, she stopped, sagging into his arms and crying.

They remained like that for a few minutes, as Nunnally began to calm and the pain began to dull.

It had been about an hour at this point. After soothing the poor girl, he eventually got to look at the point of impact. While her crying had indicated that it was bad, it was actually better than expected.

Rather than a full-on blow, as he had feared more than anything, his redirection actually worked better than expected. It was only a glancing blow to the right foot and, while it would still hurt quite considerably, it would only bleed slightly, likely healing within the week.

Thankfully.

After calming her down, the pain eventually faded, and they sat in the ground together for a few moments. It was a good time to ask what he had begun to think about over the last hour.

"Sis, what are you doing out here?"

She looked at him curiously, probably assuming that he would have already known. "I was following you!"

That didn't help. "Yes, but why?"

"It looked like fun!"

Great. Now he had to deal with this. She couldn't come along. "Nunnally, you need to go back to the estate. It's not safe out here for you."

He could tell that she disagreed based on the way her face scrunched up. "But what about you?"

"I'll be fine. I know what I'm doing."

"But I know, too! I'm staying with you!" And then, she proceeded to latch onto his leg, while continuing to sit on the ground. He tried to shake her off, but to no avail. Stupid child body.

"Nunnally, I'm bringing you back to the mansion, and that's final!"

"No!"

And he struggled for a little bit, attempting to both escape from the hold she had on him and trying to get her in return, in order to return her to safety.

After a few dozen seconds, however, he realized it was useless. He just didn't have the strength to escape. He was trapped, both figuratively and literally.

So, he thought about it, even as his sister attempted to halt the blood flow to his leg. When it came down to it, he had three, altogether bad options.

First, he could go by himself, getting away from Nunnally and hoping that she would return to the estate. Even as the thought came to him, he dismissed it as altogether impossible. She would never return to the estate without him in tow, and she would just go after him. He would be back at square one or, even worse, lose Nunnally in the woods. Not an option.

Second, he could return with her, going back through the passage and hoping they hadn't been noticed. That would ensure that she got back alright, but that was the only positive. He would have to reschedule his escape for another day, altogether unlikely as they were due to leave in two days. Or, even worse, the escape would have been noticed, and he'd never get another chance, both getting punishment and not getting what he wanted. Better for Nunnally's safety, but just too bad for himself. Not an option.

Finally, bringing Nunnally with him. That would be the easiest, but also the riskiest. While they would be punished once found, he was confident that he could shift the blame onto himself. However, he didn't know what he was doing. Sure, he could handle himself (hopefully) and accept the risk, but Nunnally couldn't. She was just too young and ignorant for such a trip. She didn't understand, and she could be at risk from any surprises.

However, he was more optimistic about this approach. It was possible for something to go wrong, but unlikely. And, if it did, he did have the 2-pound insurance weighing against his leg. But… he honestly didn't know if he could use it to defend himself. He had never shot someone before, and was terrified of violence.

But, if it was to protect someone else…

He made his choice.

Looking to the younger girl, still adamantly holding on to his leg, he still felt unsure, but there was not really an alternative. "Ok, ok, Nunna. You can come with me."

It was almost a magic trick, how fast she went from holding him down to hugging him. "Yay! Adventure!"

"But," he continued, "you must follow me and do what I say, got it?"

She stopped hugging him and backed up a bit, looking to him. "Yes!"

It was probably her smile and excited eyes that, in that moment, helped him to alleviate the doubt he had left. They would be fine, the optimism in his mind told him. His fears would come to naught, and they city would just be a fun adventure. They would look around, have a good time, and get back to the manor quickly, making up some excuse about playing in the woods. It wouldn't be enough to get them out of punishment, but they couldn't know he went to the city

Could they?

* * *

It was pitifully easy.

How could the cunts at the Manor not be able to figure out something as simple as tracking? He was experienced, sure, but even the greenest recruit should know that indents in mud and unusually ruffled foliage means _somebody_ was there.

Major Leopards was not impressed. Even with a superficial scan of the surroundings of the tunnel exit, he had already seen three broken twigs, a few overturned rocks, and footprints leading towards the stream. It didn't take a genius to figure out what that meant. Though, a little shit like Rathers probably didn't have the mental capacity to even fucking shoot straight.

But, he needed to do this, if even just to get the tall fucker off his back. As much as it loathed him to admit it (and if you asked him about it, he would break more than a _couple_ bones), he did owe the man for the almost-botched job in Paris.

They were on a mission together in the city, attempting to uncover a copy of the "Code Red" plans from the little mob they called the EU. While the plans for an invasion of the motherland by a weak-willed and simple enemy should be useless, it needed to be taken into account. The naval plans also didn't hurt to have, since the EU had a larger ocean-going force of rusted-out dinghies.

Anyways, Rathers, a rookie, just so happened to pull his balls out of the fire. He had planned to meet in secret with a representative of the French Brigadier General Amirault, contacted through the typical backchannels. Little French shits would do anything for money, even if it meant selling out their country for a promise of thousands.

It just so happened that, as he had gotten ready for the meeting, Rathers wanted to prove himself and just so happened to go _behind his back_ to do recon on the man he was to meet. That had pissed him off, but what made it worse was the rookie had found out that the General was meeting with a figure of French intelligence, codenamed Phillippe. That...was a red flag and, just like it would with a bull, it made the Major _murderous_.

And so, the meeting occurred, except instead of himself, he sent a random civilian into the meeting (with a death threat, of course). Poor sod was shot in the leg and arrested on the spot. And so, the cursed debt was formed, and he needed to honor it, since he did follow chivalry.

He may be a pissy son of a Scotsman who drank all the time and _may _have killed a few people, but he still had his honor.

He did.

Anyways, following the trail, he found it to be relatively simple. They led towards the sad little stream, over the small bridge, and towards…

The city. Well, fuck, this wouldn't be so much of a walk in the park as he expected. More effort wasted on this little search.

But, still, he was experienced. It helped that the locals had no idea what the little tykes looked like. The good old Emperor made so many of the little shits that it became a form of torture to learn them all. Better for him, though.

And, so, that is what he did for the next two hours. Questioned the ignorant peasants on the streets. Did some scouting of the side roads. Looked. Did his job, like he told the fucker at the manor he would.

And so….

"Hey, you!"

The young man, who couldn't have been more than twenty with stubble like that, turned around to face him.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Get over here for a moment!"

Walking rapidly towards the man, the Major gave off an aura of… Well let's just say it was hostile. So, the man attempted to reverse course, walking the other way slowly.

"Look, man, I need to get to the steel mill. My shift starts in-"

"Well, it won't ever start unless you COME HERE!"

Finally catching up to the guy, Leopards reached into his pocket, the mill worker's eyes trained on his hand at all times. Something that was noticed.

"Oh, don't worry you little sissy. If I wanted to shoot you, it would be in the back."

That… didn't exactly help the situation.

Finally locating the object he was looking for, he removed his hand from his pocket, and thrust the two produced photos into the younger man's face. It was the Prince and Princess, though the little bastard wouldn't know that if it hit him on the nose. Or, with how angry the Major was at the moment, shot him in the face.

"Have you seen these two kids around? I need to find them."

He looked at the photos for a moment. "I would… _assume_ these are your kids…?

"...yes."

"But they don't look like-"

"Adopted."

"But-"

Ok, that's enough of that.

"Ok, you little shit, enough! Now, have. You. Seen. Them. Or. Not!"

The man thought about the morality of what he was about to do for a minute. And then, he thought about the pistol that the other man had "accidentally" shown during the shouting earlier. Yeah, no.

"I saw 'em down by the river eating some ice cream. Something must have happened, for them to be all happy like that. Well, the girl was, at least-"

"Well that's all well and good, but WHICH FUCKING RIVER!"

And there was the gun again.

"T-the East River. Now wi-will you kindly just leave me a-alone!"

The angry Scotsman put the photos back into the pocket, a grin beginning to form on his face. An altogether… bloodthirsty one.

"Yes, I think I will. Time to finish it once and for all…"

Turning around, he began to walk at a breakneck speed towards the riverside a few miles away. And the steel worker, wanting to forget about the incident, turned to rush towards his job. Which he was late to. And got fired soon after.

Not like Leopards would care about it though.

* * *

Bullseye.

That bumbling idiot in the city was right. After a quick ride and a short theft, he had arrived at the banks of the river. And, lo and behold, less than three minutes in and he had already found the little shits.

He kept his distance, though. No need to alert the mouse of the cat. Pulling out his mobile radio, gotten shortly after… _that _meeting, he brought it up to his mouth and spoke quietly and quickly.

"Leopards, found the kiddies on the banks of the East River, near the industrial sector. What now?"

Silence. Only static for a good three minutes. The Colonel must have put a fucking imbecile on the other end rather than brave up and talk to him directly, little shit.

Finally, the other end responded. "Continue observations, Major. Monitor and await further instructions. A team is being dispatched"

My god, even the voice sounded like that of an ignorant and bumbling teen barely old enough to shave. What was the world coming to? They couldn't even replace him now that the targets were found!

"Monitor my ass…"

* * *

Well, that solved that curiosity. Even if it was… an unfortunate truth.

He sat with Nunnally on the banks of the river, after her insistence that she was tired. With what little money he brought, (since $5,000 was only a _little_ compared to his actual allowance) he got some ice cream for them in the… better section of the city. Nunnally had been sitting and eating hers without a care in the world.

The city was worse off than he had thought it would be. As he had approached the city, he was nearly taken by guards for being alone, at least until he bribed them. Started everything on a sour note.

Even once he got in, everything was split. The richest of the city had lived towards the center, in giant skyscrapers and small mansions that made up the heart of the financial and first class sector of the city. He wasn't allowed there. Only the nobility, rich, and not-in-hiding royalty were. So, he was left to roam the industrial sector.

It was… not good. Workers, covered in grime, walked the streets early in the morning. When he inquired, he was ignored by the vast majority. Except one, who took the time to complain about the 14-hour workweek, low pay, and unsafe metal machines sticking out everywhere.

It was even worse than the Industrial Revolution was. Over time, regulations had gotten rid of these practices. Not here, it looked like.

Even the houses were bad, small little shacks compared to the towering behemoths in the city. Granted, some had nice homes that would be considered middle class, but many were simply old, dilapidated houses.

This… explained some things to him. Maybe this world wasn't as… _kind _as his noble upbringings implied.

The trip was valuable information, to be taken into account in the future. But, it was now time to return home. The emerging daylight had begun to morph into the bright rays of the afternoon. And the sooner he delayed, the worse the punishment.

"Ok Nunna, I think it's time that we-"

He stopped.

Where was Nunnally? She had just been down by the riverside a moment ago, looking at the flowers growing along the banks. Now, she wasn't there anymore.

He felt a little dread at this point. He made the choice, so if something happened, it was his fault.

But, then, he heard some rapid footsteps approaching from behind him. That must be her, mustn't it? Turning around, he prepared to be tackled, tickled, or whatever else her plan might be.

He briefly saw Nunnally in the distance, struggling. Before it registered in his mind, he noticed a gun stock just a foot away. And then felt a throbbing pain on the side of his head.

It would be the last thing he remembered before the darkness closed in.

* * *

Hello all, offtimeotaku here!

2,000 views, holy cow! For my first writing piece, it does feel nice to have so many people read my work, so thank you guys, truly.

Yeah… I haven't uploaded in a little bit. Blame the education system. In fact, blame it for the next few months, since school work is going to take up a not-insignificant portion of time.

Anyways, the story! The children finally made the escape, but they were followed! I mean, what else could be expected from children, really. Even if one is supposed to be a young adult.

What's going to happen to our protagonist? Will Nunnally be alright? Will Major Leopards finally break and murder one of them? Gonna have to find out next time. Well, except the last one. That would just be bad story writing.

Review!

**JustaShadow4**: I will keep it up my friend. Can't get rid of me very easily!

Go ahead and leave a review! I love reading them, and they make me get a case of the happies in my life.

That's all from me. Have a nice day!


	6. The Beginnings of Success

_Field report #23_

_Subject's 1 and 2 have been apprehended. Their location has been discovered by the Major, and the capture has proceeded as planned._

_Damaged sustained by the Subjects is estimated to be minimal, but significant bruising and cuts are to be expected on 1's face over the next few hours. Permanent damage is not expected to occur, as per instructions._

_Transportation has been acquired, and the convoy is moving towards the designated target point on schedule, estimates of mission completion are 4-5 hours. _

_Next report shall be delivered upon completion. _

_-R_

* * *

_Thump!_

The brain; the center of every living organism in existence. A delicate bundle of nerves and synapses, storing every bit of information of a lifetime. Every moment of existence, every infinitesimally small function in the body, the brain is there, regulating and remembering.

_Thump!_

It was the one organ you couldn't live without. The advancement of medical science had allowed for almost any other section of a body, any part of the human being, to be replaced. A kidney had a dialysis machine. A limb had its prosthetics. Even a heart had it's artificial likeness. But the brain, the very center of the human soul, could not be replaced.

_Thump!_

So, due to these important facts, getting hit in the head with a gun stock with a _significant _amount of force was, well, let's just say, _not the best_ for your health.

_Thump! _

Especially if said essential organ was constantly _thumping_.

It hurt like an absolute bitch; the constant _thumping _only serving to accentuate the pulses of pain traveling through his nerves. Brain, forehead, ears, face; all seemed to be in utter agony.

His mind, a jumble, could only manage the power to open his eyes. He looked around, or, rather, attempted to.

From what he could see of the still-blurry ceiling, it was a crappy place. Rusted metal paneling, with a few small, square lights allowing for the room to have a dim hue that one could just see in. Multiple brown ..._discolorations_ were scattered in small pattern here and there. Like a liquid spilled against a surface.

Best to not think about that last bit.

He tried looking more around the room. Really, he did. But the weariness of his body was an unstoppable force, and his head moved no more than an inch. None of his limbs moved- courtesy of the cold, hard steel that he could feel almost cutting off the circulation to his cold, tired limbs.

What had happened to him?

Wait...the river! That's right, he was attacked with something. Something big. And wooden. He just wanted to find…

Nunnally.

W-where was she? What happened to her?

"Nunna…"

Obviously, his small crisis had led to some movement.

"Hmm, your awake. How… disheartening."

He could only slightly hear the person, as a ringing in his ears made it sound like listening to a radio with severe static. He tried to muster his strength to look.

Large, cold hands stopped the motion.

"Ah ah ah, not yet little one. Soon, though. Soon…."

The hands finally retracted, giving him some much needed room. Who was that, anyways?

He felt his hands become colder, like ice cold. There was something happening in his hands, but he just couldn't tell what. He felt...sleepy.

He could look around later. He… he needed his...his…

_Rest._

* * *

_Operation has concluded. Subject has been delivered to target point. -R_

Rathers sighed blissfully as he read the report. Even as he typed out a quick reply to the report, he couldn't lie to himself. He was happy.

The capture had been successful. Not that it wouldn't have been. He had the utmost faith in his guards and (loathe as he was to say it), the Major. Even if Leopards himself was an ass, his work was quality.

Speaking of Leopards, he was out of the picture, sadly unclobbered and sent on his way to some godforsaken desert in the Middle East for who knows what by intelligence. That little _sound bite _that he had collected was also gone, mysteriously _missing_ from the archived files. That had taken a lot of… _unsavory dealings_ with his contact in Electronic Developments, but he could at least craft his message before it got sent.

That probably ended up saving his head.

He was blameless in the recent escape, with some poor sod responsible for guarding the hallway taking the blame and being unceremoniously fired and sent to a prison on the outskirts of Pendragon.

Not like he cared much for that latter bit.

However, as he sent the reply to his squad in the field, he considered another worry. Considered it, and quickly threw it out.

As might have been gathered from the assigning of blame for the escape, the news of the escape was reported to the palace. Earlier than he wanted, but he couldn't keep the news down forever, so he did it himself. The royalty were outraged, naturally, and there were calls for immediate searches and investigations by a certain angry woman (you can guess who). Not since the last century had a royal been kidnapped in such a manner. So far, the investigation team had found signs of the route, from footprints by the river to witnesses in the city, but a complete picture couldn't be formed.

Even the nobles were a little grumbly over the event. Not so much that they wanted the little bastards to be found, per se, but you can't just go out and _say_ that while expecting a long life, now can you? And besides, it brought up worrying questions as to their own security.

Thank goodness his sponsor was an influential and… _liberally violent _individual. And that he was apart of the investigation himself. Combined with the incompetent members of the investigation following the "skilled" members he now controlled, any resistance to such methods could be crushed.

His promised Baron rank would also be granted soon. Well…. at some point soon. He was not able to force out an official date from his sponsor (and he dared not try to), but all indications pointed to it being bestowed upon the completion of the mission, even if his part was over. One part of him understood that, and knew that only success heralded reward.

Another part screamed louder than the first and didn't understand why his reward was contingent on some bastards later down the line. All he had to do was provide some men as security to help defend… something. He wasn't trusted with the location of the operation, much as that got on his nerves.

But, at least his role was finished.

With all that out of the way, maybe he could actually sleep.

Standing up, he signaled to the private whose work station he had taken during the emergency.

"Yes, My Lord!"

"Back to regular duties, Private. I am retiring to my quarters for the rest of the morning, and I am not to be disturbed."

"But, My Lord… it is 1600 hours. You have been in the control room for over 12 hours."

….what?

He looked up to the small, digital clock sitting in the front of the room.16:07.

Well, fuck.

W-where did all his time go? He had been in the control room supervising the search and capture, but he could have sworn it had only taken 6 hours at most. God damn it, he lost out on the entire morning!

"...absolutely no disruptions until morning Private."

"But sir… I don't have the authority to order tha-"

"THEN TELL THE LIEUTENANT COLONEL TO GIVE THE ORDER!"

The private, a little shaken from the ordeal, simply sat down quickly and began to write the order to his commanding officer as instructed. "Yes, My Lord! No disruptions until morning, My Lord!"

Rathers simply went on as if nothing happened.

"...thank you Private."

Turning and beginning his quick march, he finally began to realize how… _tired _he really was. His legs hurt to move, he had a small headache, and his bones felt hollow. The telltale signs of tiredness just were outright screaming at him now. Like usual, he tried to ignore them for too long to work.

Bottling them up for hours to supervise a complex military operation while sustained by coffee and uppers probably wasn't ...the _best_ thing for his health.

Especially for 14 hours.

After walking (or rather, stumbling) through the security hall towards his private quarters, he quickly collapsed onto his bed. The normally rock-solid mattress and small, hardly-stuffed pillow felt like heaven.

That was his last thought before he drifted off into the warm embrace of sleep.

* * *

Ensure the proper application of the constricting straps?

Check

Confirm the identity of the subject?

Check.

Confirm sedation?

Well, obviously not, as the stupid guards had allowed his subject to wake up out of nowhere for a second time and almost ruin his blood extraction.

His most precious subject…

It wasn't often that a lowly doctor such as himself got to examine a member of nobility. And a Prince, no less! Ever since he had joined his new support group, he had been getting all sorts of goodies to play with!

Some might call it a "domestic terror" operation. Others, "treason". He preferred the term "science" and "research", just as much as he would prefer to stab those who called it otherwise with a needle full of hydrochloric acid, sit back, and watch the fun.

Science was fun.

Sighing, he reminded himself that he had work to do. Taking the IV bag full of the precious red fluids, he extracted himself from the old, dirty hospital room. The blood needed testing, as per his instructions. But as for after the testing, he had some… _interesting _theories about noble blood to test out.

On his way to the blood analysis equipment located in the old lab, he was greeted with the suspicious stares of his group's security detail, who just… _watched_. These ones were guarding the Princess, who was similarly sedated and restrained, _just in case_. Can't have her getting broken at all before he did some of his personal tests.

"Don't worry boys, I wouldn't _dream_ of ruining this moment with a bullet in the brain."

But, even as he rattled off the sarcastic comment, he knew it wouldn't do anything for their stares. It never did.

When he reached the lab a few minutes later, he had gotten to work. His employer simply told him to screen the blood and look for anything… _abnormal_. When he had attempted to argue back that you couldn't expect the noble blood to be _normal_, all he had gotten was a list of areas to look at and normal values. And a rather abnormal rifle butt in the side.

But, the past was the past. He had work to do.

His list of areas to analyze had steadily grown over the past hours of observation and analysis. The more he thought about the blood, the more ideas that came to him. Especially since he had no idea what he was looking for. Apparently, it hadn't helped him yet.

Hematocrit? 43.7%. Normal.

Platelets? Normal, if a little low due to recent bleeding.

White blood cells? Normal for his age.

Normal, normal, _normal!_

Well, there went some of his theories as to the nature of the royal uniqueness. But not a single part of the blood was abnormal for a child of his age. Especially not the areas that his employer signaled could have been an indicator of some sort of psychological issue. But, he still had many areas of analysis to cover.

There was the matter of the report, however. Can't just wait until the tests are finished, now could they? Nooo, they needed immediate answers. Picking up the beat-up old radio, he attempted to turn the damn thing on. Electronics was never his specialty.

After a half-minute fumbling with the accursed object, he heard the slight _ding_ that signaled success. He pushed the button.

"Medical Report 2. The blood analysis of the Prince has been carried out. Subject appears to possess no unique blood qualities to explain any abnormalities observed."

"Brief physical analysis reveals no significant abnormalities. Sole mention is of the abnormal height for his age, but the genetics of the royal bloodline make this a non factor."

"Testing shall continue. Conclude report".

Sighing, he still couldn't help holding onto the radio for a moment. He had always expected a response, a noise, even just a simple "thank you" from whoever he was sending the reports to. But, no. His ally had explicitly mentioned that this would be… one way communication.

All the better for his work, however. Chit-chat was unnecessary for his investigations. It would simply be a distraction, like it always was.

Now there was the matter of the karyotype to perform. Maybe something could come up there. Chromosomal irregularities could be what his employer was looking for. Repackaging some of the blood into a freezer for later use, he began to look back at the list of tests to perform, checking of box 7 out of 218. Man, his would be a long night.

But, as long as it furthered his research…

Not entirely a waste of time.

* * *

"Have this evening's activities been taken care of, R-9?"

"Yes. The subject has been prepared and is being examined as we speak. The doctor expects him who take up in a matter of hours."

Ugh, hours? Why couldn't that sniveling weasel of a medical man just give him an upper or something? Still, he got the man cheap and, more importantly, off the streets. Which was code word for disposable. He would just have to make him hurt later.

"Blood analysis has shown no results, as well as the physical. Genetic testing is next."

Well, great. Not even a single bit of uniqueness that could have at least solved one mystery. More time, wasted. The genetics would reveal nothing except that he is, indeed, a human. Waste.

"Oh yeah? What about the investigation. I hope you have… _encouraged _the selected investigators to hamper efforts, like I told you to?"

"Yes. Subjects I-3, I-5, and I-9 have been successfully broken. Subject I-6's strong will has prevented the full control, so I transported him to the prisons as per your orders."

That was... a _little _abnormal. R-9's Geass should have allowed him to break anyone mentally to his will. Must be a strong will.

He couldn't wait for his visit to the dungeon later, if that was the case.

Still, this child was annoying him. He knew the Order was trying to mass-produce the little Geass children as fast as they could indoctrinate them, but they could at least give them a personality of some type. Yet one more change he would have to make when it was his turn. And it would come. C.C. couldn't hold the group forever. Especially if she couldn't even stop him from taking some of the group's drones.

_Secretly_, of course. Not like she agreed to it.

Well, well, well. Everything was going according to plan.

"Well, you did do it all. I suppose that that is a good thing. Now, go break the child. After all this trouble, I suppose he should be dealt with quickly."

That child had been a little pest in his side since his birth. Why Charles wanted children, he had no idea. Especially with someone like Marianne. But his resilience, for lack of a better word… well that called for something more direct. More certain. More secretive (mostly due to Marianne). More… _painful._

"Yes."

Oh, that reminded him.

"Wait!"

The worker drone stopped and turned briefly around. Unimpressive 5 foot height. Stupidly normal brown eyes. Black hair so cropped he was nearly bald. A thin body in a guarded posture that the idiot never relaxed. Pathetic.

"Quickly does not mean painlessly."

"...what?"

"Even your stupid head should be able to figure that one out. Eventually."

"...I understand."

And, even though the idiot clearly broadcast to the world that he didn't understand, or left.

Well, events should play out quite nicely from here. Especially after his trip to the dungeon to… _play with his new toy_.

And yes, that does mean rather brutal, fingernail-pulling, arm-breaking, and cutty cutty torture. Obviously. Not like anyone would miss the little stain. Especially since he killed his family just a few days ago.

Well, time to get to it.

It would easily help him to relax after a long day.

* * *

He emerged the room a fresh and happy man.

It had been several hours since he had left the concealed beauty of the conference room. The daylight had quickly been replaced by the soft illumination of the crescent moon, still halfway up in the sky.

Not that he could see that at the moment. According to the plans that were in action, the results from the latest… _test_ should be in. And, by that, he meant that the answer he wanted should have been forced out of the boy's mind by now. He was supposed to be awake, after all.

This was a problem that… needed to be solved. Preferably, before anything that he didn't plan for and/or want decided to appear out of thin air. The largest problem with unknown factors is that they have unknown consequences. Naturally, he wanted to avoid these as much as possible.

Naturally, after his life experiences in the past several decades, he was thankful for so little things that you could count them using your fingers. But Charles not yet realizing that this was him was one that _almost_ made that list.

His brother finding out would be… unfortunate. While he himself was never fully sure as to how much Charles cared for his kids (outward appearances suggested negativity, but knowing his brother, they could always be faked), he was certain that his brother would want the little weasel that decided to make a fool of him and his security forces and string them up for the public to see.

Quite literally.

But those were worries to be dealt with at a later date. Here and now, he would get his answers. If not, then someone would pay.

Quickly logging in to the large monitor displayed on the wall, he brought up an audio channel with his agent. Even that idiot knew how a phone should work.

The channel, after ringing for several seconds, finally opened.

"Has it been done?"

He waited. Silence.

_Useless_.

Even he, after his decades of experience, got very anxious during such events, and the silence wasn't helping! "R-9, have your orders been carried out?! What is the answer?!"

The idiot still wasn't responding. All he heard was something dripping. Incompetent fools. He sent them in with strict time requirements, a fully equipped and secret laboratory, and enough guns to defend the palace, and-

...

Unless...

He wasn't used to pessimism, but when things always go your way and optimism wins for so long, it does have a way of creeping up on you and hitting you in the face with a ton of bricks. As was happening presently.

Ending the call, he quickly input another number. At least this time, it was promptly answered by his subordinate.

"Bunker 38, responding."

Finally, some response. "Cancel whatever orders you dimwits have. Immediately investigate the Downtown General Hospital in your area."

"Yes, my lord. I will send a team out immediately."

Call end.

Well, at least some of them were competent. But he did wonder why his stupid agent didn't answer. Wonder, and slightly worry. For the plan, mind you, not the idiots.

He got his answer in about a half hour, when the investigations reported in. Early on in the reports, everything seemed fine. The hospital appeared abandoned, and the traps were still placed.

And then…

"Sir, report!"

The urgency of such a report meant… "Yes, what is it."

"Bodies observed in the halls! All are dead, my lord."

No.

It couldn't be.

"What bodies exactly are they, you idiot!?"

An audible gulp was heard.

"They are… the guards, My Lord. All shot in the back."

….what!?

No!

This couldn't happen, not now! The whole plan would fall apart! "Listen to me. There are two children somewhere in the stupid building. Where are they?!"

It took a few seconds, but a reply came in a small, trembling voice. "Small footsteps have been seen outside of the rear entrance, my lord. Two sets, both small. These children… are nowhere to be seen."

* * *

Hello all! Offtimeotaku here, after a long break. Yeah….

Turns out the start of the new school year has been difficult. Great! Between the papers to write and my job, it has been difficult to find time to write more of my story, but it has been done!

I cannot promise that I will have a consistent upload schedule, or that the holidays won't wreck things even more.

Oh yeah. Happy Holidays!

I promise that, while this chapter is a little short, the next one should finish off this mini-arc. Emphasis on "should". I realized that I am probably trying too hard to write this area of the story and not moving fast enough to canon. That will be my next goal.

Anyways, go ahead and leave a review! I love reading them.

Have a nice day!


	7. Interlude: A Desperate Gamble

"Retreat!"

"Back into cover, men! Regroup!"

"No! If we stop the advance, we are finished!"

"Ah, I'm hit!"

He ran. He didn't know what else he could do, not under conditions like this.

The dead littered the small clearing. Every step he took, every single time his foot connected with the ground, he had to avoid the traps of the dead, trying to drag him down with them. It was a harsh way to look at it, but no less true. One little mess up, one little fall, and he was more likely than not dead.

It was an absolutely chaotic and rapidly deteriorating military situation. He didn't need to be a general or a seasoned vet to see that. The advance had gone well. The center thrust had surprised the enemy in their camp and the flanks converged and surrounded, and all was looking like a pigeon-shoot… up until the Britannia's deployed their reserve units hidden in the "abandoned" storage units, got their planes up in the air, and targeted the left flank.

The left flank...no longer existed. The enemy cut through it like a hot knife through butter.

It was a slaughter. The Cambodians, armed with simply produced and moderately maintained SRS's bought from the Federation and AK-47's from the E.U., were simply unable to counter the Britannians superior artillery and R-75 rifles. The surprise had done them well in the beginning, as had been expected, but the coming of dawn had seen the enemy's reorganization and their own disaster. After nearly a day of hard fought combat, the end was nearing.

He didn't know where to run. He lost his rifle long ago, in a hand-to-hand fight with a Britannian who managed to kick his gun away before he was able to finish the job.

"Regroup behind the river line, men, and give 'em hell!"

Colonel Hûang, brave as ever, ran amongst the men, zigzagging across the battlefield in a desperate attempt to get men to listen to him.

"Come on, Sergeant, in line, on the double!"

Coming to the slow realization that the Colonel was looking directly at him, he changed course and directed himself towards the small, spread out force that the Colonel had amassed. About 4 squads worth of men.

He still felt hesitant. Everything was collapsing around him, but he was still far enough away from the front line that he was relatively safe from ground fire. The center was entering the final stand, resisting with all it had left. Which was enough to last atleast an hour, as it was the strongest sector of the line. The left flank… the left flank had practically disintegrated, being the enemy's first target. The right flank still held, if by a thread, which gave him and the group some more time to get out. The line couldn't hold forever.

And neither could his country. The country he had served for over a decade. The country he loved.

General Hâi, the greatest war hero and accomplished soldier that kept morale going, killed in an air strike last week. Perhaps their last chance to actually win this war, the tactical mind of Lieutenant General Zhöu, captured by a Britannian raid.

Even President Duang, last in the legal chain of command left, saw his life cut short by an assassin's blade just a day ago as he attempted to enter into negotiations with the Federation.

Without the head, the body dies. And, with the way the last of the at least semi-organized chain of command had deteriorated in the preceding days, the end was near.

Before he knew what had happened, he made it to the river. He was only the fourth or fifth to make it, the Colonel still giving all he had left to make himself heard over the sound of the ever-increasing gunfire. "Cross now, assume defensive positions! The front line has fallen!"

Out of breath, he crossed the small river using the hidden, underwater bridge. He knew everything was going to shit, but to have it confirmed...only made it that much harder.

About 80 of the men had been rounded up, many in terrible shape. Cuts, bruises, and gunshots to the limbs were plentiful, and the morphine was most decidedly not so. Taking out the last needle from his pack, he wordlessly handed it to a guy bleeding profusely from his leg. He needed it more.

Before long, the Colonel had made it back. Marching in double-step over the bridge, he immediately crushed the connection to the bank. They wouldn't get across easy.

Looking back to the men, he stood tall. Grime, blood, and sweat or not, he still was as imposing and tough as ever. He inhaled.

"Men, this will be my last address to you all."

"We ordered this attack thinking we could avenge our brothers, our leaders, and our families slain by the Britannian dogs. We were wrong. We thought we could kick out the Britannians from our land. We were wrong. We believed in the surprise attack, and that the Britannians must be at the end of their rope. We were wrong."

He sharply inhaled, and continued as the gunfire drew ever nearer. "But one thing we believe in, and know to be true, is that Khmer will not go down without a fight! We won't sit like dogs and beg for mercy!"

"We will kill these sons of bitches for what they've done! We will go down fighting! Think of all those lost, our brothers and sisters who were bombed by the Britannian firebombs! Those killed in bed as the Britannians stabbed us in the back! The children, orphaned! The elderly, burned! And our weak, executed where they stood!"

The morale was at an all time low, but it was replaced now with seething anger, as all remembered what they lost.

"I don't care how many of them you kill! How many of this foreign devil you slaughter! How much of our supplies you use! I ask that you simply try, for your friends, family, brothers-in-arms, and for the Republic! We won't die without a fight! WE WILL NEVER SURRENDER!"

And with that, the speech was finished. And the men, knowing the hopeless situation, were ready to die. But not without some retribution.

"NEVER SURRENDER!"

"RESIST!"

"KILL!"

They were in a frenzy now. He checked his ammo one last time, looking around as his able comrades did the same. It was do or die time.

The Colonel then rejoined his men. Having access to one of the few remaining divisional radios, he attempted to determine the time they had left.

Another soldier, a Junior Lieutenant, meanwhile, pulled some explosives out of his bag. Looking back and forth towards the opposite shore and the nearby forest, he seemed to contemplate. And then, he placed the stick of death at the base of a single, thick tree.

"Everyone stand back! Now!"

As everybody did so, he lit. After hastily running back behind another tree, eyes covered and body on the ground like the other surrounding men, the base of the tree exploded, violently.

_BOOM!_

As chunks of bark exploded out towards the soldiers (one hit himself in the arm and caused considerable pain), the remainder of the tree fell in one swift motion. Right onto where the firing line would form. As several men looked at the damage, the Colonel straight stared. And smiled.

"Don't you lazy fucks sit there, get these goddamn trees down! Do you want cover or not?!" The Colonel, clearest seeing the advantages, shouted this.

For the next few minutes, groups of men worked on the surrounding trees, managing to get a very basic defensive line constructed on the banks. Even as the trickle of retreating men turned into an unorganized stampede of green animals, running as fast as their legs could carry them. At this point, they got few additions.

One of the scouts, taken position in the trees with binoculars, suddenly lifted them to his face. Confirming the inevitable, he shouted:

"And here they come!"

The enemy emerged from the shrubs and trees onto the riverbank, a grey wave advancing in a loose spread formation. Upon reaching the bank, they looked around with surprise. Giving them the perfect opening.

"_Fuck you!_"

"FIRE!"

They had decided to make their stand behind similar shrubbery and trees on the opposite shore, as well as the artificial fortifications. Some non-scout soldiers, in fact, climbed the trees and had an aerial view of the enemy, who sat on a small peninsula jutting into the river and had continued advanced to the bank in hopes of crossing over a bridge. A bridge that their intelligence had likely told them would be there. So when the first volley hit them from above and below, and a few squads worth of men fell dead and wounded, they were shocked.

Panicked, the men began looking wildly for the source. And they found it in short order.

"Return fire you idiots!"

And they did. Say what you will about the Britannians, their weapons were good, and several of the Cambodians fell where they stood, breathing their last.

The firefight continued like that for a little while. Each side would fire blindly onto the opposite shore, and the Britannians had finally wisened up and taken their own cover. They were partially pinned, surrounded on three sides by righteous gunfire and brave patriots. The sound of the river and the distance between them made it hard to quantify the casualties, but each small scream heard signaled another man's life gone or altered permanently.

More screams seemed to be coming from the Britannian side, but more bullets were being fired into the Cambodian side. Thank God for the thick and solid wood of the forest. The forest that had also protected them from the deadly possibility of Britannian bombs. The enemy's planes had been flying overhead but remained silent, perhaps afraid to bomb their own soldiers in the conditions present.

He was firing as quickly as his hands could make him, constantly reloading the clip and pulling back on the bolt. His ammunition had almost dried up during the fight, but he was sure to salvage what he could from the wounded and dead. Making a final stand was not for the faint-of-heart, and he was damned if he would fall easily to these jackals.

Eventually, however, that luck had to run out.

"Got a spare clip Sergeant?"

He fired off another round. A Britannian 2nd Lieutenant fell to the ground, screaming.

He looked at his remaining rounds.

"Just about out myself, Private. Just about out…"

"_And just about out of time, as well."_

The Private, looking slightly disappointed, simply nodded. "About what I figured, then."

It appeared then as if a lull in the fighting was starting to occur. The Britannians were likely regrouping, deeply hurt, but not obliterated, by the firefight. Even with that, the remnants of the Republic's army knew they were preparing for a final assault to clear the position and continue their advance.

A final assault to kill them all.

"_If they dare."_

The younger man next to him simply pulled out a cigarette and, after requesting a light, began to smoke it. After taking a drag and breathing out heavily, he said rather matter-of-factly "Well, were fucked, aren't we Sargeant."

As much as the thought disgusted him, he forced himself to be honest and nod. Deep down, he and all the others knew it was the case.

"Yes, Private. Yes we are. Up shits creek without even a boat at this point."

"Well, might as well make it count, then."

Turning to the Private, he felt curious. "What's your name, son."

He gave off a small salute, lazily and uncoordinated, but it's not like anyone gave a damn for military discipline at this point. "Private First Class Nguyễn Nhất Tiến, ready to die, sir!"

"_If only it wasn't like this, he might have a future."_

He returned the salute, crisp and precise. Surroundings going to Hell in a handbasket didn't mean he would ever forget procedure, even if he forgave others for it. "Hàn Quang Linh, Staff Sergeant, 14 years."

"Ah, so your an _old_ ass sergeant. Don't see many of them these days!"

That drew a chuckle. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Too many damn battles. Part of me just wants it to end."

"Understandable."

They sat in what was almost silence for several minutes, watching the sunset on the horizon as both sides continued to fire occasionally. Only two men ended up wounded since the lull, but the count wouldn't remain this low for long.

Tiến put out the cigarette with his heel, crushing it beneath his foot. Much like they would soon be crushed under the boot of the Britannians.

"Well, it's been good talking with you Sergeant. It's... nice to talk before...you know…"

Standing back up, he flashed a grenade from the waist of his uniform. Making perfectly clear what he intends to do, he looked to his fellow damned.

"See you on the other side, Sergeant."

He could only nod in return.

* * *

"Deploy."

"But, Director, we have no idea what the result will be. The research and tests that are yet to be done…"

"That doesn't matter at this point. We will not find a weaker enemy. Even if they are cornered, they will still be a challenge, however. Using this, the challenge...disappears."

"If this fails…"

"If it fails, then we will simply rebuild with the faults fixed. You forget that our funding is near limitless. This is a perfect combat situation to attempt deployment, and I already have authorization from the Major General. Now, deploy. I trust that I should not need to ask for a third time.

"Yes, sir. Experimental subject 1 prepped and ready. Deployment is authorized and initiated."

_"And hopefully, this will work."_

* * *

It was a warm summer's morning when the Britannians invaded.

Around the semi-independent nation of Cambodia, officially aligned with the Chinese Federation but dependent on them in name only, people were awaking from their slumber. Going to work. Cleaning the house. Spending time with the children.

And then the bombs roared down upon them from the heavens, and they were no more.

The surprise invasion, begun with a massive fleet launched from the Britannian islands of the recently conquered New Zealand, had devastated the nation in the opening salvo.

All government forces attempted to rally the Chinese Federation to their side. With their military might and skill, they could surely fight off the Britannians!

But, it was not to be. A delay here. Excuses of internal conflicts and political intrigue there. Multiple "captures" of equipment by Britannians. Everybody knew the Chinese would be of no help after the first month. Betrayed and ill prepared, the army mobilized.

The fleet, gone within a week. The capital, being a prime target for the Britannians primary invasion force, fell in less than a month. Neary all planes were shot down as soon as they touched the sky, without survivors. And then, everything collapsed, and the resistance and government scattered and fought like hell in the countryside for almost a year. Bravely defying the inevitable.

Until now.

Due to this, the Cambodians were well used to betrayal and surprise. From all sides. So what came next was only a little shock to the troops, at least at first.

It was the scouts that first raised the alarm.

The position of the defense, on a wider scale, was poor. Considering the

Britannians had quite easily taken the central plains and hills of Cambodia, they needed simply to clear out the mountains and forests. Well, "simply" was not as simple as it seemed, as the government declared an end to military operations in clear and open ground after the fall of the capital. Linh's own unit was stationed in the northeast, in one of only three remaining regions of the country (northeastern forests, southeastern mountains, and southwestern mountains).

Considering that the Britannians had cut them off and pushed them to the Federation border, they were technically surrounded, even if the main military forces were ahead of them. Attacks such as the one beginning this battle had attempted to blunt

Britannian envelopment of their position, but had failed. With this being… the last chance.

Anyways, while on the opposite shore of the Britannians, the enemy still held the territory behind them, about 10 kilometers away. It paid to be prepared for any surprise assault or secret operations. So the Colonel had taken some of the… "weaker" men to scout the area for an unexpected surprise.

Which they had signaled in the forms of the sudden screams that broke out from their positions.

Due to the quiet of the dimming battle, the Colonel had quickly heard the quiet screams, explosion, and the accompanying gunfire, and scrambled to unhook his radio. Fumbling with it briefly, he urgently yelled into the box.

"Scouts, report status!"

It was static for several seconds, before a new voice, an old one, rapidly responded in a hushed and panicked tone.

"Colonel, the Britannians… well, I don't know what it is, but they have a ...some machine. Colonel, this thing…. we fired the rocket launcher, and not a scratch! We need immediate reinforce-"

*_ghzzt*_

Static.

"Fuck!"

Face turning paler by the minute, the leader of the informal band of soldiers quickly looked up and took a count of his command. Excluding the numerous dead that littered their position, very few were still in a condition to fight. A mere 30 made the best decision that he bought he could.

"Squads A and C, take the explosives and find this thing. Kill it dead!"

Quietly, they acknowledged the orders. Quickly running towards the small explosive stash they had hidden behind the leaves of a bush well-obscured from the battle, the men immediately took what they could. It was a meager supply, just 26 sticks, but it should hopefully do the job.

Hopefully.

The squads were soon running off deeper into the jungle, becoming obscured by the deep and wild brush. They had left this battlefield behind to join another.

But...why weren't the Britannians attacking? If this was a rear attack, as seemed to be the working theory, then they should attack from both sides to kill them all, is what he thought. They would give em hell either way, but the second would be presumably easier for them than the first.

"Sergeant."

Yanked from his thoughts, he turned to face the sudden breaker of his thoughts. Colonel Hûang. He quickly saluted. Seeing the man's face immediately frown, that was probably wrong.

"We aren't in the goddamn training camp, Hàn, were in our fucking graves. Least you could do is lose the official shit."

"...yes sir."

He seemed to have regained a little happiness, well, at least as happy as a Colonel could be considering the shitty situation.

"I want you to take Squad D and E downstream about half a mile. There is a cave there, and I want you fuckers in it within the hour."

Was he… ordering him away from battle? Away from his friends?

"Colonel… I can't do that!"

"And why the hell not, soldier! This is the best chance we got!"

"Chance for what! How can sending away half the men make anything better! We will gladly die here with the rest of you, killing those sons of bitches til the last breaths. We won't run, sir!"

Unexpectedly to him, his superior… did not explode. In fact, he smiled, albeit grimly. "You know Sergeant, when I said drop the official shit, I didn't mean for you to drop your decency."

He sighed.

"You got a good heart, soldier. Could have been a general, if this shit didn't go down. But no, I don't want you to piss off with your tail between your legs like an animal."

What?

"Then, what do you want us to do?"

"The cave contains the last weapons we have, at least that I know about. With the way things are going, we will be lucky to be breathing in the next fucking hour, let alone the next day. And I don't want those weapons to be there when we get ourselves shot. So, you will take the weapons, wait til the Britannians win, and _then_ attack. We'll hold 'em off."

He thought about that. It… could work, at least a little. Take them out when their guard is down, and kill as many as they could. It seemed so simple...the same as this morning's attack. Which utterly failed and got their last hope killed by Britannian lead.

"..what weapons are we talking about, Colonel?"

"Well, what don't we got! Everything we could want to blow those Britannian fuckers to bi-"

BOOM!

It came suddenly and out of nowhere, shaking the ground with such a force that the Gods could have sent a lightning bolt and they couldn't tell the difference. Of the twenty of them left, nearly 17 of them were knocked to the ground instantly.

He came down, _hard_, on his left elbow. It had quite quickly cracked from the pressure of the explosion, hurting like an absolute bitch. His head was next, landing somewhat softer, but still crucially painfully, on his elbow. His neck made a noise that it… shouldn't. Mind-numbing pain seared across his entire body, and he lost feeling, briefly, in much of it.

He couldn't hear, or see. He was trapped within his own mind, without escape, as he heard vibrations. Vibrations that simply increased in intensity and force. Never stopping, never slowing.

Nearly a half-minute later, his vision was returning, and his hearing had improved slightly. What he saw…

17 of the men went to the ground. Almost 12 were down for the rest of eternity, bullets riddling their bodies and ensuring that they were no longer. Blood pooling around their fresh remains. The screams of the remaining men, with no idea what to do. And the monster…

…

He shook. Uncontrollably. He blinked multiple times, attempting to clarify, quantity, somehow define the utter impossibility of the current situation.

He had seen tanks, way back at the beginning of the invasion, battling it out on the shores. He saw AFV's, and even been in the several times, as he fought. Tank destroyers, making paste out of his own men once their own tanks had disintegrated. Huge metal monsters that could kill you quicker than you could an ant.

But none of them were on two legs.

A nearly 30 foot behemoth. It had a human shape, but it was anything but. It's immobile legs were kept up by what was basically a training wheel, with some sort of tread underneath propelling it forwards at a steady pace. Some sort of sensor on what one could consider its face, protected by some presumably bulletproof casing. The most important part, however, were the machine guns that it carried on its arms. Four. All of which were putting so much lead in the air that they were dying in droves.

And a Britannian coat of arms, displayed proudly on the very center of the metal monster.

Those remaining scattered. Everyone took cover behind some trees, which might provide some cover from the ungodly monstrosity. But, wherever they hid, it still found them. The spherical "eye" kept turning, the torso continued revolving, the guns fired, and death kept being served to the unprotected defenders.

It appeared by this time that the Colonel had also recovered from his own brush with death.

"Retreat! Get out while you can, get anywhere but her-"

He had always thought the Colonel to be invulnerable. The way he would strut across the battlefield, confidence in every step and determination in his eyes. The men, including himself, saw him as a being with a near-godlike ability to resist bullets.

The two slugs between the Colonel's fearful and terrified eyes soon liberated him, _painfully_, of that notion. As it did the rest of the men, as they all viewed the Colonel's brain blown out the back of his skull like mush.

"_Shit!"_

He ran. Towards the jungle. He didn't care if there were more Britannians there. _Anything _would be better than this.

"Fuck you!"

But just as he had begun running, fearfully retreating in a way that he had sworn never to do, he was halted. At the sound of the second major explosion in as many minutes, he couldn't help but pause. That was the Private he was talking with earlier. He recognized the voice. The Private who fought.

Looking back, he could barely see through the thick brush, but he found what he was looking for. His eyes were met with the sight of the large machine. Collapsed. It was hit on the back, right where a large pod jutted out of its side. It was crackling with energy and convulsing wildly, before it collapsed…

...right on top of the Private, whose remains…

…

…

Feeling the pressure build up in the pit of his stomach before he knew what was happening, his lunch had soon exited his body. _Violently._ He had seen men shot in the chest, stabbed, bayoneted, bombed, burned, even cut through the torso with their cattle wire. But seeing a man blown to bits and turned into paste…

He didn't even wish that on the Britannians. No matter what they have done.

Recovering, he tried to banish the image from his mind. He had to focus. Escape. Plan.

Kill as many as those sons of bitches as he could.

Or else they would have died for nothing.

It was then that he remembered his discussion with the Colonel, and remembered the cave. If he could get there…he could have a chance.

He had never took off faster running in his entire life. Not caring about the significant brush at his feet, or the lack of cover, or the proximity to the river, he ran. He didn't even think about it, really. The metal monster was… gone. He was safe. So he ran West. To the weapons. To kill.

"Get him!"

That was, until he was _painfully _reminded that the Britannians were positioned on the North bank of the river. Looking for any stragglers who had manages to survive the onslaught of the metal machine.

It was completely understandable that he had forgotten, with the recent upheaval of the entire tactical situation within the last ten minutes. However, it being understandable did not mitigate the result. Due to the simple human error of forgetting, his final wish was now drifting slowly and painfully away.

He tried. Really, he did. Zigzagging to the best of his ability with his deteriorating strength as soon as he heard the first gunshots, he broke into a sprint for the deeper forest brush. His foot, at the last possible moment, got caught on some loose brush, right there near the shoreline. He tripped.

_No…!_

It was then that it fully dawned upon him that he would die. Tired, cold, hungry, and alone in the wilderness.

He felt the first bullet tear through his flesh and lodge in his right forearm. The second, a steaming hot piece of lead fired directly into his lower left abdomen, cut a path through his insignificant amount of fat. That didn't slow the bullet down enough. And finally, as if life were using him as a pincushion at this point, he was hit in the thigh, which brought him crumbling down like a sack of rocks.

He felt the impact of the water on his back. The feeling of the blood exiting his body and diluting into the river. The small cheers from those who were taking all he had left. As he looked up for what he thought would be his last view, he saw the evening sunset of his country. Of Cambodia.

It was then that his feeling left him, and he quietly drifted off into the abyss.

* * *

"Sir, the combat results are in. The test… was a failure."

Looking at the results, the opposite man, his superior, simply smiled.

"I would not call it that. Fourth-five rabble killed to one lost? Those are the numbers of victory."

"But sir, the machine is gone. And so is the pilot."

"A machine can be rebuilt to be better. A pilot can be trained to replace him. Faults have been located, and perfection is approaching. Not to mention, the pilot had always been a thorn in my side. Multiple problems have now...disappeared."

"But sir…"

"Enough! Communicate the results to the design team and salvage what you can from the battle site! I want another working model constructed by this time next week, or it's your head!"

"Yes, sir!"

Waiting as his subordinate retreated further into the ship, the man simply chuckled.

"Warfare, reborn…"

* * *

Hello all! Offtimeotaku here!

So, new update. Was getting a little tired of following just one storyline, and I needed to set up a side character for the future, so… interlude time!

I have always been fascinated with battles, and this had given me the opportunity to write one myself. And, in a suprise to myself, it seems to be my longest chapter yet!

Now, the Britannians invading Indochina (including Cambodia) is, let's just say, _dubious_. Different sources say different things, if it is apart of the Federation or if the Britannians took it. So I questioned it. And then I kinda went "fuck it" and did it, since it's my story. Fanfiction, gotta love it.

Anyways. The storyline seen here (the Britannian invasion, Federation's response, Linh, first combat tests of Knightmares) will be touched upon at a later date. Expect to see Alfonso escape from his little… _situation _next chapter.

Now, onto the review!

**JaRjArJar**\- Why, thank you. I will certainly try my hardest. BTW, bit of a tricky name there, so I hope I transferred it right!

Please leave a review! I like them. They make me happy.

That's all from me. Have a nice day!


	8. Heroic Endeavors

The light was finally breaking through.

It was a struggle. Fighting the constant waves of drowsiness and numbness had taken a lot of his energy out of him, but he emerged successful in the end. And, when he had finally fought his way out of the depths, he discovered…

...that it was just as utterly useless being awake.

He was, in all sense of the word, a caged animal. Tight, solid, and restricting leather straps held down his arms. His legs, slightly better but not well off, faced the same challenge, with obstructions wrapped so tight he could feel the circulation being blocked from his feet, which were growing colder by the second.

Even without any such straps, the door in the far corner of the room had multiple locks on it, which would be rather effective at cutting off his puny attempts at escape. A quick glance around the room was for naught, as no other obvious exits appeared to exist in the room within his field of vision.

His worry slightly alleviating due to the passage of time, he began to think.

He could tell, at the very least, that he wasn't in the worst possible situation. The room was bare, well, except for the old wooden chair in the corner, and he remained relatively injury-free. The pressure on his skull had long since retreated, and the only signs of anything wrong were the needle marks on his hands, multiple sections of hair and skin removed, and the bruising from the rifle stock.

'Only' signs. Waking up missing a bunch of hair off your scalp with needle marks everywhere was downright terrifying. But the fact that he could not feel the _pain_ of such injuries, rather, only the weird feeling of emptiness and soreness coursing through the area, meant that he worried about it less.

The room appeared to be long-since abandoned. Old, faded paint, broken vent, chipped wood. The light panels were missing multiple rods and a few holes existed here and there, from which the occasional draft would come in.

What had they done with him? Why did they want him? What had he done?

And where was his sister?

That last one scared him the most. He had long since understood that his life wasn't worth as much as others. Especially that of a young and innocent soul like Nunnaly's. He was the one who let her come with him. His selfish thoughts and extreme optimism had ruined everything. He was stupid. What was he thinking?

When- no, _if _he got out, he would have to find her. Immediately. He didn't know how long it had been exactly, but he would have to assume it had been long enough for the royal guards to muster a significant force to search for him. He was, as well as stupid, forgetful during his journey.

He had only meant to stay out for a few hours. Traveling quickly to the city, looking around, and beating a hasty retreat to the palace before his absence was noticed. Even if it was noticed, it would have been for so little time that they would merely find him roaming the grounds- one excuse away from a lighter punishment.

But… he got cocky. Overconfident. And, possibly worst of all, distracted by

Nunna. He didn't think about this part of the plan, and left for too long. Leading to the current situation.

Damn it!

Why did this happen!? Everything could have turned out just fine, like most of his other plans, but he just had to go fuck it up, and now he might just lose another-

_Creeeak!_

His musings were broken abruptly, thoughts derailed. Replacing them, a figure, entering through the only possible entrance. A figure that… he didn't like the look of.

The doctor's coat that he wore was bloody. _Too _bloody, with old and new mixing in the form of both brown and red splotches. His tall frame moved across the room with purpose, direction. His eyes, though intent, contained… _something _abnormal.

Walking over towards the chair in the opposite side of the room, he hesitated slightly, but took a seat. At this point he was almost a ghost, almost unseen by the young boy. But, using what strength and motion he had, he could raise his head ever so slightly. Enough to see the top of the man's wild, unkempt black hair.

"..."

Nothing was said by the man. Silence, in a situation where none should exist. Seemed like he would have to try first, forcing the fear down into the pit of his stomach. It would only hamper him now.

"You… what is this? Where am I?"

He couldn't see any response. But he heard a slight _bang_, almost imperceptible, make its way to his ears. He heard breathing, quick and shallow.

"Normal."

...what?

"...normal? What is that supposed to-"

"Blood. Normal. Genes. Normal. DNA. Normal."

Each time he said a word, some more passion was leaking into his voice. Standing up, he started walking closer.

"Skin. Normal. Body. _Normal. _Eyes. _Normal." _The more he said it, the more he made it sound like a curse; something to be hated. Despised and worthless. Worse yet, he could see his face better now. Pissed.

"Brain normal lungs normal reaction normal saliva normal cells normal! Normalnormalnormalnormal!"

He was upon him at this point, staring at him like he was disgusting. Obviously, the look of fear and confusion had spread to his face, as the strange man (doctor?) finally seemed to return a little bit of normalcy.

"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU SO NORMAL, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

Well, if anger was more normal than crazy.

"What the fuck are you talking abo-"

"SHUT IT!"

Fearing for his own safety at this point, he did. And watched as this mad, crazed man walked in circles around the room, somehow keeping purpose in steps that were anything but marching towards a goal. Who the hell was he, and what did he want? Was he even in the right state of mind to answer?

He seemed to calm slightly, after his little walk in circles. Returning to the other presence in the room, his eyes had seemingly lost their crazed look. But not intent.

"Child, I will give you one opportunity. One chance to not get hurt, and that is all." He leaned in.

"What makes you special?"

"Special? What do you mea-"

"DON'T GIVE ME THAT!"

_SLAP!_

The pain was sudden and without warning, slamming into his brain like a shockwave and hitting him before he knew what had occurred. His head, in much the same fashion, had _snapped_ back to the base of the cot, with the sole item preventing his skull from sustaining more damage being the pillow that sat below his head.

The man who had committed the violence simply withdrew his hand, wiping it off on his coat as his scowl intensified, but showed no such hesitation or remorse as would be expected from an individual who had just slapped a defenceless child in the face.

(_What the fuck…)_

"The royal bloodline has created a… superior being, in the words a stupid child could understand. Any Britannian Royal is destined for the greatness of superiority over the… _lower_ peoples. So… why is that?"

He looked… somewhat mesmerized with his words, his face displaying no emotions besides an awkward mix of anger and curiosity. Which simply left him with more questions.

He still didn't know who the hell this was, where he was, or nearly anything about his situation. But he could safely say he was fearing for his own safety when faced with this… _thing_.

"I- wha- what are you talking about?! I don't know what you are saying!"

"I refuse to be forced to repeat myself to a little stain of a petulant child. Now, TELL ME THE ANSWERS!"

He had never seen someone get this fanatically angry at himself. Videos online of pissed off pedestrians were one thing. Fighting with family over being able to leave the house was another. This was on a level entirely separated from those two, and it scared him.

"Yo-you're insane! I'm not a freaking scientist!"

Pure disdain flooded the madman's face, and he stared into the restricted child's eyes, appearing ready to bring up his fists again.

"Insane? Even an insignificant little shit like you is using such a despicable word?"

Every word grew in intensity, and it had appeared like he had touched a soft spot with his words. Alfie simply remained still, staring back with fear in his eyes.

"You can't _not_ be insane with w-what you are saying! There isn't anything _special _about anyone here but yourself!"

But at the last moment before another assault began, his captor suddenly looked down and put his hand on his forehead, rubbing it slightly and letting out a forced sigh. Returning his gaze to the young man in front of him, he reminded himself that the idiot locked up in front of him was necessary, and physical damage may disrupt homeostasis needed for further tests.

So he was able to restrain his anger from those words. Spoken to him nearly every day of his life that was in living memory by some moron or another. Even so, his next words came out quietly, but with a slight passion and force behind them from the countless times of repetition with which he had said them before.

"What is "insanity" other than the simplistic conclusion of a prejudiced mind? The human mind is infinite in its possibilities, and anything that doesn't conform to the majority is outcast as a degenerate disgrace to the rest of the "sane" species. "Sane" or "insane"? Try asking "normal" or…. "unique."

"Wha-"

And then the giggles began.

"The whole thing is meaningless, because the last time I checked as to the situation, I was the one who can _pump insecticide _right into you tiny, _little veins _at any moment that I DAMN WELL PLEASE!"

He never had been good at keeping his temper in check. Not that he cared though. Maybe fear would make the little shit talk. He read about emotions like that in psychology oh-so-long ago. Might work here, who knew?

The target of the anger tried to look away, struggling against the restraints and telling himself that he _needed_ to get out of this place. To get home. To return to normalcy. When this failed, and the solid restraints only hurt him more, he withdrew, almost feeling some of his spirit break as a result.

"Please, just stop… I can't tell you what I don't know!"

A few minutes passed after that. The crazed lunatic of the group did nothing more than continue to look at Alfie, only moving his emotionally blank face to blink. Meanwhile, Alfie had long since given up on talking. It wouldn't do any good, and he was terrified that he might set off the man who could kill him with a simple flick of his wrist if he so desired.

But nothing could last, including this situation. Leaning back, his captor simply smiled. It was crooked. Unnatural. Crazed. All of these words could similarly be used to describe the laughs that came out of his mouth mere seconds later. The sounds of a lunatic.

As the laughter died down (as Alfie's hopes of getting out also died a cruel death), he decided to speak once more.

"Heh, I tried to give ya a way out kid. But, looks like you were too stupid to see what is good for you. Smart as they may say you are. I will be back to… deliver the _consequences_ of your decision".

Was he… going to get tortured?! He honestly hoped that it would not devolve into that situation, but he couldn't make any other guesses about what would happen based on the amused and downright terrifying tone coming from his assaulter.

"W-wait! What does that mean!"

"I don't know, guess you'll have to use your 'superior' brain to figure it out your own damn self."

Concluding his business for the time being with his prisoner, the Doctor simply smiled to himself and withdrew. But upon opening the door and stepping out, being unseen by the boy by this point, he jerked his thumb down the hall and spoke his brilliance.

"Oh, and by the way, I've studied the intricacies of human relations. Lets just say… heh, lets hope you don't like your sibling. Might end badly for you, all things considered."

The rusted door creaked shut.

"N-no. NO. WHAT WILL YOU DO YOU BASTARD!"

Strolling leisurely down the hall towards what must eventually become a breakthrough, the good Doctor simply smiled to himself as his whispers began anew.

"I'll figure it out…. I will. Days, weeks, months, years, all are meaningless. There is only the truth. Yes… the truth…

* * *

"The investigation, therefore, has yet to uncover the events that occurred during the current incident."

Royalty. The sheer power of such a position means that any contact must occur in a setting that sends a clear statement: _These are your betters. Respect them or pay the price."_

While it could not match or even approach the sheer majesty and beauty of the throne room, the working room that the Holy Britannian Emperor Charles zi Britannia occupied was by no small means a place of decadence. Sitting at the lavishly carved and solid oak work desk, where he had to spend at least some time at each day coordinating an empire as majestic as his (even if he left most of the repetitive and unimportant duties to Prime Minister Ellison) he cast a cold glare onto the man in front of him.

"What you are telling me is that, with all of the 'experience' and 'abilities' you lay claim to, at every turn you have been bested by a mere child?"

Said man was the head Specialist of the investigative wing of the Royal Palace, whose name he had no reason to recall. Standing at stiff attention on the lavish purple carpet and solid antique pallets that sat underneath him, he appeared every bit as meek and simple as one in intelligence doubtlessly turned out to be.

"Respectfully, Your Highness, it is not as simple as that. The child may have initiated the incident, but all signs point to a kidnapping att-"

He was tiring rapidly of this farce. For several minutes, all this spineless fool could repeat was his failings, each time attempting to be sugar-coated with half-truths and theories that were clear to any imbocel with a brain cell. Therefore, he held no remorse for slamming his fist onto the solid desk, and making the man nearly jump from his surprise.

"Enough of this. Your incompetence in your duties thus far is unquestionable, and the singular task you are assigned to has brought up naught but speculation and weakness at every turn!"

His eyes were bearing into his opposite. You could tell much of a man's will from their gaze. This one refused to meet his, attempting to find comfort in the soft purple hue of the ground.

"Your singular goal, that goal shared by your entire department, is to find the children. Whether they are broken or not. And you have until this point accomplished nothing, progressed no further than your theories."

And that was all they had been able to present to him so far: unsubstantiated musings coming from under equipped imaginations. The only concrete facts they had been able to discover was that the children were the ones who decided to leave the house; nobody made them. Besides that, the only other statements of any validity that could be made were that it was Alfonso's doing, as the other one was just too naive and wish-happy to pull off something of this magnitude. Some part of him even felt proud that he had a child who was slightly competent. That part was soon shot dead and buried in a shallow grave, however.

"We are going as fast as we can, Your Highness. Our investigators are already working around the clock, and the conclusion of the matter should be within sight."

Within sight? After the utter lack of information he had just been given?

"Will this 'conclusion' include the number of seconds the children have been gone? Each speck of blood lost from their frail bodies? Each dollar wasted on salaries for you blundering incompetent cretins?"

With each word, the other man simply stood stone-faced, looking back at the Emperor as he took both his fists out onto the table and hit it hard.

"I will not tolerate blatant guesses on the timetable, Specialist. Considering the previous adaptability and superiority of your missions, you cannot claim to me that you are unable to fulfill your duties. If you lack the strength to conclude this matter, then you will simply be swept aside and disposed of. Weakness has no usefulness in the Empire. Unless, it is more than just weakness…"

A gulp.

Very slight, almost imperceptible, but decades of ruling the most superior and wicked Empire in existence had taught him all he needed to know about facial expressions. He could read them like a book, and the small, imperceptible movement of the throat was all the evidence he needed.

And then, the door to the left was opened. Considering the proximity of the door to the living quarters of only a few select individuals, he already knew what was going to happen.

"Come on now. I'm sure that this poor man is trying his best, Darling, and that all of this pressure is unnecessary."

Marianne had always seemed to find some sort of fun in abruptly interrupting his dealings, barging in during the most inopportune times to gossip or to make suggestions. He had always made his displeasure at such interruptions. However, it seemed… _different_ this time, with the aura given off by his most-favored wife most decidedly not one of idle talk as she sailed across the room towards him.

"He will try his best to find my children and he will succeed in all due haste, _right?_"

Perhaps it was the words, emphasis put on the request for confirmation. Or the tone, like that of a disapproving parent making it quite clear what the consequences would be if you stepped out of line. More likely, it was the eyes; round, purple spheres of intense anger hidden behind a glimmer of calm and intensity. Either way, the tool in front of him went ramrod straight, looking slightly to the side as he began to, quite clearly, panic inside.

"Y-yes ma'am!"

The stare relented somewhat, losing some intensity but none of the will. Broken internally by what he had faced, the investigator simply chose to keep his head down low.

Motherly instincts were a more effective fuel for the fire of anger, it seemed.

"Then all is well. Now, off you go to your investigation, Specialist. We would like to speak to you again tomorrow."

"Of course, Your Highnesses!"

However, you could only interrupt the Emperor for so long before his own bubbling frustration emerged from its depths, and that time had arrived. Standing up from his grand chair, he simply coughed slightly; a deep and bass sound that quickly permeated the room. Attention gained, he raised to his full height and looked directly at the man in front of him, knowing full well how such internally weak and spineless creatures would react when faced with his own intense aura.

"Get out of this office, and let no obstructions halt you. If your dominance and mastery are not evident in the coming day, the consequences will be felt by all of you incompetent buffoons."

Not even bothering to question what was meant by consequences (and futilely attempting to pretend like he was unaware of the implications), the man sketched a quick salute and retreated from the office, tail between his legs but composure maintained.

Soon after the guards had opened the door, allowing the pitiful creature to escape his gaze, Charles simply sat down again, letting out a short sigh. He would never admit it, but on the inside, he relished the feeling of utter superiority and control, even if it exposed to him the rot in his own system. To his side, Marianne also lost her aura of intense willpower, deciding instead to wander around the room for a bit while moving on to the next topic at hand.

"Was all of that truly necessary Darling? You could clearly see him terrified out of his wits."

It was always her who questioned his actions, even when he himself knew she didn't actually have a care in the world for the suffering of those below them.

"You know as well as I do Marianne that only fools suffer from such impediments. That was not fear, but calculated." _At least in the beginning_, he added to himself.

"You mean he was lying? How could that be, he was terrified! Just look at his face!"

She really seemed to believe what she was saying. Even after years of being in the royal family, he still had to remember that Marianne had always been best at putting on a disguise, but had never been able to see through those of others quite yet. That would have to change.

"A face is a mask that can easily be changed to suit the situation, and this was no different. No, the general inability to get anything done has traces of something... deeper in him, along with the people he does business with."

"…treason?"

"A track record such as theirs does not go through a sudden drop for no reason, even if they seem incompetent the past doesn't lie. The situation here is clearly filled with rot, and those who betray the might of the throne will deal with the fallout."

It wouldn't be the first time he had to put down a few doubters. Any position of power came with that responsibility, and his was no different from any other in that respect. All hail the Emperor, and death to the traitor. Kill or be killed.

"As long as that fall out comes nowhere near our children. I refuse to bear this for much longer! I can't even get Lelouch to sit down since his return, much less rest! My heart cannot take much more of this!"

Ah, the children. It always came down to them. He couldn't much care any less about them, and would almost prefer to chuck them into obscurity for even the smallest political advantage once one appeared. But, still, they had their uses, and he did feel _something_ for them, insignificant though it may be. Marianne, though, had found some way to care about the little creatures. even when they were the cause of all this trouble in the first place.

Spending years with someone made you understand them; think how they think. The more you understood, the more you grew. Matured. Grew stronger. And by this time, he understood the woman in front of him more than anyone else. She cared, all right. Even if it was in her own, twisted way.

"My beautiful children…"

"The children will be returned in due time. If one team shall not accomplish the task, then thousands more will take their place. I refuse to see the throne desecrated by some heathens taking advantage of the cracks in our institutions."

That was always one of the most important factors above everything else; the throne. The well-being of any child is fleeting, but the effects of a _royal _child being lost and possibly killed? Two children? The nobles would be in a faux uproar, either using their secretive backchannels to decry the inability of the throne to defend itself or creating their own imitation plans in response.

The nobility had always believed themselves to be the kingmakers in Britannian society, no matter how much those who took the throne attempted to disabuse them of that notion. Their false sense of security and self-righteousness was always a risk, and no matter how solid a grip any Emperor held on his power, they would always attempt to exploit it to their own ends.

No, the children had to be found. And the ring leaders, along with all the participants, had to meet their painful end. Blood was always most useful in quieting discontent. The more you spilled, the better position you would be in later on. And the more power he could syphon from the throne for his own uses, rather than turning to the defensive against some uppity nobles.

"Those who did this _will _pay. The Ganymede will see to that much."

She was looking at him when she said that, snapping him slightly out of his musings on the same subject as if she knew of his plans. The seriousness of her voice indicated she would be happy to help.

"No matter the outcome, our plans are unaffected. The foundation will not break under slight stresses. The weak cannot counter the will of the superior. But you already are aware of that, aren't you?"

She shook her head in response, fear over the matter being quelled slightly.

"We will get back what is ours. And the culprits shall suffer for their misguided ideology."

And if his own investigative team was not up to the task…

Turning slightly to the open door, he shouted in his loud bass voice for one of his guards to enter. In a short time, his order was obeyed, and one of them entered the room, stone-faced and rigid in the presence of his ultimate commander.

"Prepare a message to be sent. The usual recipient. The contents of the message will be given within the hour."

If only the contact actually kept direct and constant communications, he wouldn't have to wait. But, that never was her style.

Unquestioning and silent, the man nodded and left the room, the central power of a great empire still within.

* * *

Time passed, as it always did. Marching on without a care in the world for the relatively innocent soul trapped in… well… wherever he was.

Perhaps it has been days. Or hours. Minutes, even. Time passes with extreme haste when your senses are deprived of everything. Not a speck of light. No sound, nothing in the terrifying room could be capable of moving to cause something as longed for as _something_ to listen to. If to distract from the thoughts.

His muscles were tired; struggling against rock-solid restraints with the physique of a boy who had never even seen a weight or ran a mile was a desperate move that could only work for so long. Needless to say, he wasn't going anywhere.

He had read quite fervently in his past of heroes. Great men who could be an inspiration to others. Save them in their time of need, while suffering little in battle and little in heart. Men who could easily shatter their restraints and do what needed to be done. Escapism at its finest.

He was 0/3. Chuckling quietly, if only to avoid the alternative of breaking down, he looked back on how absurd such stories and fantasies were.

Not much else to say besides he gave up. Didn't really take long. Going into trying to shake himself out, the hope was that the restraints were loose, or that they were insecurely tied down to his prison. No such luck. So, while he desperately wanted, longed for, _pleaded_ to anything, anyone, to be able to escape, the simple fact was he was too small, too insignificant, too _weak _to be able to do anything at all. Again.

Couldn't even help his little sister. That brought about the heaviest guilt. Dragged her away from home, got her captured, and who-knows-what was being done to her. He could only hope that _insane_, mentally unstable man was using himself first. Or that his threats were just that. Hope was all he had left, if not for himself, then for the innocent who got wrapped up in all this insanity.

Laying down on the tough makeshift bed (not like he could do much else at this point) and trying to fight the thoughts, eyes closed, brain numb to the outside, it took a moment to register. Sensory deprivation made them dull, and dull senses led to a slow recognition of a door opening, of light flooding into the darkness of what was his prison and cage. But, even impaired senses recovered quick, and he snapped his head up to attention as soon as he heard the door's creak.

Whatever it was that entered the door, it was to remain a mystery for the moment. He could see the madman's face when he left, however long ago that may have been, and his entire head down to his thin, sickly shoulders. If that was the case, what did it mean if he couldn't see anything now?

Still, not like he had a say in whatever came next. Whatever inner turmoil it caused.

"Just get the hell out and leave me alone."

His throat burned from disuse and dehydration, but it still worked adequately enough for the moment.

The slight squeak of shoes on the floor tiles was the only indication that there was someone there to respond. "Subject is awake and alert. Mental state appears weakened and angered. Request permission to initiate contact."

It wasn't often that a young man (boy?), like the one currently tied up for the slaughter, ever got kidnapped. What young whatevers like he was _would_ have seen were the crime documentaries, or read the news of some graphic descriptions. None of them ever mentioned a child being a kidnapper.

Not much else this person could be, unless they were a dwarf with a messed-up voice box.

"Permission acknowledged."

It wasn't much more time for him. About a minute later, if that, before he heard the other presence in the room speak in his tenor of a voice. Once again, it wasn't to him, it seemed. But that then begged the question: who was this guy talking to if it wasn't him?

He saw the slightest movement out of the corner of his eye. Which was surprising in and of itself; the head of sickly black hair just edging its way over the strapped bed was barely large enough to even be seen. He was never a short person, in either life, and the last time he could remember being that short was way back when he was five, back in the days when nothing mattered.

He wanted those days back. Screw these people, whoever they were. He just had to hope that rescue came in time for both of them.

The slight screeching of wood on tile was almost overlooked in favor of looking inwards, but he noticed the distinct noise. As well as the chair that was moving slowly across the room, towards him. Albeit he could only see the very top of it from his positioning. Must be embarrassing, for whoever had to be dragging the old thing.

Finally coming to a halt from its long trek, the noise stopped at his bedside. Before long, and completely lacking in any sort of announcement or permission, a new pair of dark blue eyes were suddenly staring _directly _into his own. Completely lacking in any discernible emotion or soul.

"Who are you?"

Stare.

Like a common animal, he was just ignored. Nothing in the other face even seemed phazed, like it was just another day. That was a little scary.

And so were the clothes of the recent intruder. Completely black clothes covered the kid, from hooded head to the chest area, and it appeared to go even further down. A few symbols adorned the dress, on the sleeves and top, but for the life of him he didn't know what they meant.

As part of his dreaded tutor courses, he was taught about both history and modern politics. Every single organization, from the various noble houses to those idiot royal societies or national "union" groups had some symbol to rally behind, everything from a simple circle to complex and intricate geometric patterns that represented ancient civilizations or important constellations. And, in being forced to study them for hours by a tutor that had to literally hold his head by the hair to force him to look at them, he knew that he hadn't ever seen a lazily-drawn bird.

Or maybe that was one of the symbols he "accidentally" lit on fire when he chucked his book into the fireplace. Who knew. Not him, at least.

"Are you a cultist or something? Why are you wearing that weird-ass outfit?"

He wanted to continue asking the individual about what the freak he was wearing, but he found that he couldn't.

Something changed.

Have you ever taken a bath? Ok, dumb question, I admit. So let's move on to a smarter one. Ever take a bath where the water was so hot that you could _feel _your body temperature soar before you even touched the boiling liquid? If not, then sometimes, after such a bath, your brain decides that it has had enough and shuts down. The blood drains, the darkness moves in from the outer edges of eyesight, and all sense of balance is gone, replaced with a slight feeling of both pain and, weird enough, numbness.

He felt that now. And last time he checked, he was fully dry.

And he could still see. Even with the slight pressure in his brain making him a little confused, the sight of a staring child was still there. And was still just as creepy as before.

Could… was it him doing this? A drug or something? He didn't know, but he was getting tired of the pain in his head after a good half minute.

"Ok, I don't know how the _hell_ you are doing that, but fuck off and let me wallow in peace."

Surprisingly, that had the desired reaction. Specifically, the eyes blinked, the face hardened, and the fucking off happened in the form of a soft jump onto the floor. He didn't see anything after that.

Well, something was finally going his way. Small and insignificant, but he really couldn't find it within him to care anymore. What happened happened. Powerless.

"…no reaction... there is no...completely unknown…. Orders?"

He made out bits and pieces of the brat's conversation from the other side of the room. If you could call it that. To Alfie, it only heard like some drunk rambling to themselves. But, If he really was talking to someone else, then whatever happend happened.

"Tell whoever that is to go fuck off and die in a ditch."

They had to have already decided what to do with him, as depressing or sad as that thought may be. Might as well let out some frustration first. Maybe (hopefully) annoy the shit out of someone else first too.

"Understood"

He amused himself with the thought of the cultist's words being directed towards himself, and that the kid would tell his friend just that. But, as was obvious, that wasn't the case at all. Still, could always hop-

"AGH"

The searing pain rushed in like lightning and, for the second time that day, he felt the entire left side of his face nearly explode as he was assaulted by his captor. His neck slammed to the side, and his head hit the back of the bed. Not hard enough to cause much more damage than was already done, but enough that he knew there would be significant bruising later on.

If there even was a later on, with how intent these fuckers seemed to be at wanting him to experience child abuse. And how the fuck was this child this strong?!

"Why can't you people just tell me what you want?!"

The face was back. Once again, no emotion.

"Question: why are you unaffected?"

The lips moved robotically, and it was almost as if there was no person home in the other body. He knew his fair share of dead-eyed fast food workers or students who had just stopped giving a shit, but this was on a whole new level.

Why do they keep asking questions about stuff he didn't know a single goddamn thing about?!

"Unaffected from what?!"

It came from just above his eye this time around. A mass of unexpected pressure hitting him squarely on the eyebrow caused an explosion of color and, for a short time, he couldn't see if he was in the nasty old hospital room or in a magical land of color and light. He could _feel_ his brain slam back into his skull, and this sequel of flayed neurons hurt no less than the original.

"Why are you unaffected?"

Why can't he take a hint?!

"I don't know what you are talking about, just leave me alone! Why can't you people take a fucking hint?"

Mouth.

Neck.

Skull.

Stomach.

_Groin_.

Over the course of a few minutes, the question was asked tens of times. And each time, as the captive's blood began to spill out onto the floor and the body tried desperately to face and repair the damage being done to it's young tissues, the mind's patience was running thinner and thinner.

"Explain. Why are you unaffected?"

The blood continued to drip out of the rapidly growing number of contusions coming into being around his body; none of them were a problem in and of themselves, but the sheer force of the ruptured capillaries causing increasing amounts of both pain and blood loss were not easily fixed by bodily systems that had not even figured out how to grow properly yet. Death from a thousand needles.

And he couldn't take much more of the pain. He wasn't a chicken when it came to fights, but in a fight, you could at least retaliate against the motherfucker who decided to go for the junk.

The ever bending patience, if he even had any to begin with, snapped in two.

"For the last, and _final _fucking time, I don't know what you are on about! Maybe if you _told_ me what you were trying to do to me, drugs, poison, or whatever else you sickos have, then I could have an _idea_ of what you wanted me to say and we can stop torturing the child!"

He spit as hard as he could. Retaliated how he could. Pitifully.

The eyes were back on his, but only for a moment this time, and the first sign of emotion was able to be sensed. Uncertainty.

Quickly turning away and wiping the spit from his face as if it was just another day, the torturer stopped. The footsteps began again, the door clicked, and the silence returned.

Exhaling a breath that he didn't know he was holding in his damaged lungs, he tried to calm down. Looking to his wounds, he tried to take stock of his situation. He needed to calm down. Nothing came of freaking out. Not last time, and not this-

Why was his blood falling sideways? Better question, how did the floor become the wall? And why was he laying on said floor?

"Sure, just leave me on the floor why don't you. Not like I could pass out from the pain or anything."

Must have happened during the torture. He was barely aware at some points of it, specifically the points when his face was the target. Must have been then.

The headache was still constant; a mix of his brain's repeated meeting with his skull and attempts at repairing his bodily functions must have been putting extreme pressure on it. It wasn't nearly as bad as the open wounds on his body, which were finally starting to see his platelets rush into the areas and bind to stop the bleeding, but it still hurt like a bitch.

Bringing his right hand up to his forehead, he tried to put some pressure on his skull and massage it, hoping that his free hand could do some good.

...

...wait a second. That couldn't be right.

But it was. He brought his hand, his _bound and tied up _right hand, in front of his sore eyes. While the occipital lobe of his brain was still a bunch of puddy in his head, he could still make out the clear image of his small, soft, and bleeding hand moving shakily in front of him, a long but peripheral gash down the side. Looking to his right, he similarly saw the leather restraint that should have been holding it with a large gash. That went completely through the leather, courtesy of one of the severely broken floor tiles jutting out of the ground.

"Oh _yes_!"

Hope. He had it again. It had been sorely missed.

He forced his arm out from underneath him and, through much protest, it obeyed. Further still, he began reaching for the strap restricting his right hand. Five minutes later, he was standing for the first time in several hours. Unsteadily, yes, and after several attempts, but the action had finally held.

Relief.

"Eat your heart out Houdini," he remarked in amazement. "I did it after all".

Well, to be fair, it was less like he _did _anything and more like it was done _to _him. Luck was a fickle mistress, and this time it must have wanted some suffering. But, still, the ordeal was ongoing.

Escape was at the forefront of his mind. And, with this mindset, he went about looking through his options. Now that he could actually see where he was.

He looked slowly around the room. Until the pain in his neck became too great for such action. Had to move his entire body after that. And it yielded some results. The door was the obvious route to take, but then again, he wasn't an idiot. If you needed money and worked at a bank for instance, wouldn't the simplest and fastest way to get it be to steal it? Same type of thing here. No telling what's outside except that sadistic child and his fucked up doctor friend. Door is a no go.

Only other thing in the room, as far as could be seen, was a vent. Bolted shut with rusted bolts, it would clearly be too dilapidated and old to resist being kicked in with a solid hit. Even with this body's complete lack of a muscular system. He hoped.

But, if the outside was like this, what about the inside? Was it rusted out inside? Would it collapse once he entered it, dooming him to a fall and recapture? But still, it was the only viable option. He wasn't about to get his ass detected from walking out the front door and just screaming for the nearest guard to slam two feet of solid rifle stock into his face. Again.

He felt it as he was pacing around the room. The awkward weight affixed to his ankle, getting in the way of his limping foot's movement and threatening to trip him up. It took him a moment to remember what it was. A pistol.

The pistol he had packed a while ago. Pulling up his pant leg, he could see the shiny steel finish of the back of the barrel tied up to the bottom of his leg. An afterthought of his escape. A tool for the worst of circumstances that he didn't think would ever come. Well, they fucking came.

And, it might just be his only way out of this hell. He let out a sigh.

"Is this my only option? Murder?"

His own melancholic tone was unexpected to even himself. He brought it along, didn't he? He knew something could happen, right?

So why wasn't he prepared?

It would be simple. He knew it would be, from all he learned in his past about self-defence. Check clip. Grip. Turn safety off. Breath in. Steady. Aim. Breath out. Fire.

But he never needed to advance to the last step: kill. That was always the fear, but never the belief. But now…

He had to. There wasn't another way. Did he want to die here? What about his sister? Would he be okay with her sitting here, wherever she was, until these insane people decided to do to her what they did to him? Did they already do it? Was she still okay? Alive?

She had to be. She would be. Not again. It hurt, more than the physical wounds, to overcome the barrier. And he still hadn't, and wouldn't until he fired the damn thing. And he would.

For freedom. For safety. For revenge.

"For her."

* * *

The freak arrived a little bit after he had left, and in the same condition too: dead and lifeless as he slithered his way through the door.

Alfie counted himself lucky; the bed that was his prison was orientated in such a manner that it couldn't be seen from the doorway, especially in this poor lighting. Lighting that made it even harder to accomplish what he had wanted to.

Across from the door he stood, trying to steady his breathing and make himself as small as possible in the darkest corner of the room. Silent. Stealthy. Heroic.

The door snapped shut, and before he knew it action time had approached. He still wasn't ready, and never would be. First time skydiving all over again; already prepared and waiting for the ball to drop, but paralized. He wouldn't repeat his hesitation now. He couldn't.

The child looked refreshed slightly, as much as a shell of a face could look refreshed. Eyes ever forward, he was rapidly approaching the bed. How he expected to move it or properly do anything to the person "on the bed" was unknown, but he wasn't on the bed anymore. He was aiming the barrel of his gun at the kid's chest, hoping and pleading with himself to fire. To do what needed to be done.

He breathed in.

The kid snapped his head towards him, eyes showing surprise, but little else, and the time of action was now or never. That's what he told himself as he exhaled.

It happened suddenly, and he never really could fully remember seeing it afterwards. The trigger was pressed inwards, the chamber fired, and the bullet impacted. The noise, the deafening roar of fire, knocked out his sense of hearing for a second, as this body had never been exposed to the training fire his previous had. The ringing would have to stop soon. However, when he had recovered enough to make out his surroundings, he charged forward out of desperation.

It worked. And he didn't know if he should be proud or fucking terrifired.

The body was sitting on the floor, a clean fountain of blood coming forth from the center of his chest and pooling around the area of tile where his body crumpled. Those eyes, the damned little red orbs, did as they always did when it came to this freak.

Stared. But without any presence behind them.

Hands shaking unsteadily, he allowed them to drop the tool of war that had done this act. It bounced slightly on impact, but otherwise remained near his feet as he hurled over and began to expel his stomach contents.

It was… worse when it was actually done. Terrible, and needlessly violent. Except that it was needed. He had to. There were no other choices. The first time was always the worst. It would get better. He would forget about those eyes.

He repeated this endlessly in his head as the shaking, tears, and vomit were unrelenting. Eventually, though, he had to run out of stuff to throw up, and that moment came about half a minute later when the dry-heaving began. Crawling over to the corner, back to where he was when he fired, he simply sat for a minute, trying to steady his breathing.

They… always made it look so easy. Take the gun, fire the gun, kill the bad guy, and move on to the next, looking dashing as more and more of the enemy were disposed of with haste. He should have known that life wasn't that simple, that the dead always stared back at you, hauntingly and frighteningly. He could only hope that the soundproofing that he saw in the decaying walls was enough to muffle the shot to the outside. And it appeared as though it was.

_I have to get up,_ he thought in his solitude. _This wasn't for nothing. Keep going you idiot! Focus!_

It wasn't easy to listen to the voice in his head, but he did. While all of the previous effects were still present, he forced himself to his feet and, navigating around both the growing puddles of green and red, approached the body.

_I have to. I have to. I have to. _

He couldn't leave the way he was. The clothes he was wearing would be a dead giveaway. But it was one thing to plan to loot a corpse and another in its entirety to actually do so. To desecrate the dead, even if the dead attempted to desecrate a scared child when they were alive.

It took a few minutes, but he was able to get out of his old clothes and into the clothes of the dea- someone who wouldn't need them anymore. Don't think about it and it will go away. They fit poorly on his taller frame, but still appeared to be just enough to cover him.

The hope was that the blood would be thought to be the prisoner's if he was found. The bright splashes of crimson illuminated the center of the infinite black on his chest, and he could _feel _it seeping into his-

No, stop. Focus.

He had work to do, shaking and tired as his suffering tissues were. He wasn't free yet, and this was only the beginning. No guards had come into the cell yet, hopefully meaning that none would. The soundproofing he could see sticking out from the walls looked solid enough, anyhow.

Taking a few unsteady steps, he worked his way over to the vent system. It was just large enough, probably about a foot by a foot and a half. That would be all this body needed. Forcing himself into the enclosed area, which really was not helping his mental state, he simply repeated to himself over and over that he needed to do what he had to do.

* * *

Alfonso was back in the cell, and was more frustrated than ever.

Why were there so many guards for just a hospital? From as far as he could make out, there were only him and his sister there, and yet in the single wing of the hospital that they were on he could count seven guards scattered around the hall and the ambulance bay he found. Thankfully he went slow enough to not be found out, but less thankfully the process, already ludicrously tough and tiring, took nearly half an hour, and he heard some mentions about checking in on his cell. Thankfully they were ended when one of the older ones just asked "Do you want to be the idiot who talks to that freak?"

Speaking of the situation, he had indeed found his sister. All this time she was just a few dozen feet away. Unconscious and tied up, just like him, although he was thankful for that. The less she had to see, the better.

But, still, he couldn't prevent a small "Fuck me" from escaping his lips as he forced his legs out of the air vent. At least seven guards. Fully grown guards. Armed with military-grade rifles and a few military-grade revolvers against his single pistol. Life was not fair.

It still had to be done. Otherwise, he couldn't get out. His sister couldn't get out. His first murder….

*gulp*

...would be worth shit if he was just recaptured and reimprisoned, destined for more torture and more dead eyes as god knows what they did to Nunnally.

Standing up steadily and making his way for the door, he only wished that the royal guards were more competent. That they could have caught him, or actually found him by now. It shouldn't be that difficult for the "most advanced" and "excellent" investigators of an empire that was that big, but knowing empires, they were probably just a bunch of fat pigs who left everything to their underlings as they sat back in bed staring at a television all day.

Ok, focus. No time for idle thoughts now.

He stepped out the door quickly, making no attempt to hide the bloodstains on his chest. One would think a torturer would go to some… extreme measures if being in a room for nearly an hour without contact. And, by all appearances, that was the thoughts of the grunts who turned to look at him. Thanking the absolute lord that he both fit the clothes (relatively) and now had a mask, he made his way forward.

Trying to exude an aura of nothing whilst proceeding forward with purpose, he walked the twenty feet down the hall that he had to in order to approach his destination. Where else would he go other than to try to get his sister?

Reaching the door, and with the guards looking at him with, this time, confusion on his presence, he ordered them to open the door and let him in.

Or, he wanted to, before he realized that the people in front of him could probably recognize his voice or the person he replaced. Stopping his mouth from opening, he thought frantically. How could he do this? He could easily shoot them, but the others from down the hall could just pump him full of lead before he could get to them with their rifles. Talking was already out. Walking straight past them and attempting to enter would… probably not be smart.

In the end, he just went with the simplest thing that he could. And also what happened to be the _only_ thing his mind could scratch up in time. Pointing at the door and reaching for his pistol while staring at the guards with the most detached face he could muster, he waited.

"You uh… you want to interrogate the girl?"

Thankfully one of the two, the smaller one with the unwashed clothing and unshaven, tired face responded. He nodded.

The other one, who was rather thin and quite clean in comparison, chimed in, "Oh no, not without the Sergeant's clearance you ain't. He didn't tell us nothin' about smacking up the Princess until he got what he wanted out of the smartass." The fear in their eyes was certainly there, but it seems like duty won the day.

He continued to stare, hoping and pleading that this man would just open the door if he looked serious enough. Thankfully, Nunnally seemed to be fine, but that could only remain so for so long.

After a moment, the Private's eyes seemed to bulk a bit, and he spoke again in a bit more professional tone. "Ok then, lets see what the Sergeant has to say." He turned towards the slightly depressed exit further down in the middle of the hall, where two other guards stood. "Hey, Jim! Get the Sergeant on the radio, tell him it's a situation!"

"But he's on break! Nobody ought to disturb him, he said, and I don't plan on being the one to shovel the shit out of the goddamn rusted pipes tonight!"

"Ugh, do I have to do everything myself you idiot?! GIve me the radio. I'll do it myself, but you owe me some smokes for this!"

Turning towards the direction of the radio, and with his partner in tow, the men started off towards the wing exit as Aflonso simply stood there, suddenly very afraid. If there were no orders to do anything, and he was trying to do something… wouldn't he be found out?

"Come on over here, let's get this thing settled so I can go back and catch a little shuteye." Snapped back to reality, he realized it was the messier of the two shouting back to him this time, with the other one presumably already around the corner.

This…

Okay, he needed to make a new plan. He didn't want to, but only one thing flashed across his mind. They were all crowded in one place, no other reinforcements to relieve them or even hear them. That was, if he acted before they turned on that freaking radio and found him out.

It must be done.

He ran quickly towards the small corner, legs creaking and grumbling over the sudden acceleration. While not the quickest, he was able to make it to the corner in a few seconds, being only a few feet away. As the first guard who had called out wondered to himself what the little freak was doing, his arm was already pulled out from under his coat. Finger on the trigger, he pointed, aimed, and fired.

The first bullet struck the messy guy in the left lung, cleanly exiting the body and leaving a gaping, bleeding wound that oozed blood as the wreck of a body fell. Before the remaining three could react, he had made his way around the corner, eyes avoiding his most recent sin.

"What the hell-"

Seeing the surprised faces of the two conscious guards and the rapid eye movement of the one currently dozed off in the chair, he aimed again. He fired a few more bullets in their general direction, with only the first shot being properly aimed at the radio guy's neck. Unable to drop the radio and unhook his service pistol in time, the bullet severed his jugular, causing him to rapidly collapse and, if he wasn't dead yet, would soon lose more than enough blood to send him to the afterlife.

He had to do this. Disconnect yourself.

A few of the next bullets missed, allowing for the tall, clean one to aim the rifle. One shot was able to be gotten off before he too collapsed, screaming as the wound to his arm forced him to lose grip of the rifle, which clattered to the floor. He tried in vain to reach for his pistol, but his brain was gone in the next few seconds, splattered on the door.

Don't look at the blood. Focus on the task. It had to be done, even as the tears began to block his vision once again.

The third guard tried vainly to unlatch the door, whose solid white surface was adorned with locks that were equally as numerous and complex as those to his own cell, if not actual key locks. He didn't even have a gun on him and, if the fear in his eyes was any indication, he knew he wouldn't get the chance to find another one.

And he didn't. One more squeezing of the trigger, and he was the same as the others. Out of the picture.

He had eaten a grand buffet the previous evening. A welcoming feast made up of some of the finest clam chowder, sirloin steak, and most exquisite fancy filet mignon that the local nobility had to offer. Thankfully the meal had already left his stomach, or else his dry-heaving would have been much messier than it was.

He had to do it, didn't he? There wasn't any other way, right?

As he was on his hands and knees attempting to stop the tears from getting worse and forcing his stomach to calm, he honestly wondered if it really was necessary after all.

* * *

Hello all, Offtimeotaku here!

Don't worry my friends, for I do declare that I am, in fact, alive. And, thankfully, in good health, as much has occurred since my last update in...January. Wow it has been awhile.

Thoughts of writing are not far from my mind, but stress from recent events, a lack of motivation, and a fleeting memory of source material present... challenges. However, I have begun to overcome the first two, and I just got my copy of Code Geass in the mail last week, so I will soon be refreshed in both source material and plans.

Now I have noticed the pace is a bit... bad. 10k words for one chapter is quite an achievement, but it means nothing if there is no story. To this end, the "introduction" arc will certainly conclude next chapter. Followed by a time skip, as I am, like many a drug addict, frantically searching for a way out before I'm in too deep. when will next chapter be out? Ha, lets not talk about that... (I have no idea).

I hope everybody reads this in good health, and I think I should stop blathering on right about now.

Have a good day!

(P.S. Happy one year anniversary to the story! Hard to believe it, but it's true. Thanks to everyone who has read, favorited, followed, and reviewed my first ever work. It means a bunch to me!)


	9. Heroic Failings

Damnit.

Idiot.

Failure.

_Fuck me!_

These were the feelings and emotions running through the head of one Alfonso vi Britannia as he ran, his underdeveloped legs bulking and struggling to keep up with the momentum of the rest of his small body.

"Spread out and corner him! He gets away and we're all done in!"

Legs contending with eight other legs, which just so happened to be _much_ more muscular and trained than his toothpicks were while belonging to soldiers who did not look kindly upon his recent acts of cruelty.

The end of the hallway was rapidly approaching. Thinking fast, he dove to the right.

The impact of his fall quickly began to reopen his old wounds, sustained by the hands of the ever-so-despised child thing whose dead body sat over in that corner, eyes thankfully not pointing towards the door he just dove through. No time to think about that now. Getting up, and sustaining a whimper from the particularly torn slash on his upper right arm, he forced himself against the door and locked it, having time enough only to turn one of the metallic locks into the position he desired before-

"Get the keys, you idiots! You ain't gonna break the thing down!"

Hearing the incredibly faint shout through what was supposed to be a soundproof door, the panic set in.

Feeling his time countdown, he cursed his situation again.

Would you believe he got here because of cast iron?

* * *

_An hour earlier_

Needless to say, his first action upon recovering from his… breakdown, was to immediately go back and claim his prize thus far, which he had bought in blood.

Dragging himself down the blood-soaked hallway, averting the sights of the bodies along the way and forcing himself forward, he soon found the room he was looking for. Unlocking it with the keys he had taken from… a guard who would not be needing them… he quickly stepped inside.

The improved quality of the room was noticeable, with the assortment of cracks, stains, and damage overall being diminished compared to his own "luxurious" quarters. Even so, it wasn't the room that he was concerned about; for that he couldn't give less of a damn. It's contents, however…

"Oh thank god."

He sighed in relief. There she was, laying near the center of the room on a makeshift, slightly damaged hospital gurney. Nearby, a simple heart monitor sat on the tiled floor, beeping in a regular rhythm of life.

Her appearance was peaceful; eyes closed and face calm as her body rested, bright pink and frilly nightgown merely serving to amplify her natural cuteness and tranquility. She didn't appear to be awake and, if the IV tube leading into her arm told him anything, it wasn't a natural slumber. But he could tell she was only sleeping; the unnaturally even and ever so slight rising and falling of her chest was enough of an indicator as to that fact.

She was alive.

"Nunnally!"

Walking up to his sleeping sibling, he shook her slightly. Nothing.

"C'mon, wake up! Don't do this right now!"

He sat her up. Still nothing. Opened her eyes and tried to look at them. No signs of consciousness.

Had he been in a better mental state, he might have realized that the IV tube was rather important in that. The sodium thiopental being led into her arm, not to mention being incredibly dangerous to use without a proper medical professional being present (which was a statement severely in doubt with the local… "mad scientist"), was also still being injected, with the constant *drip* of the IV tube feeding 20 mg into her veins every few minutes to maintain sedation.

Being in the mental state that he was, it took him some time to realize this fact. After the fourth attempt at shaking her frail body, in fact. At which point he carefully took the IV tube out of her arm. It sputtered slightly as it was tossed aside, but otherwise relented.

"That should do it."

Turning back to her, he saw no noticeable change. That had to be expected, he reasoned with himself. The drug would still be in her system and, while he didn't know how long it would take, he didn't want to take any chances that he didn't have to. He was already on a very thin rope when it came to chance taking.

But what to do now?

He couldn't wait here, he decided. Any minute now, some other lackey could discover him and, while he could probably explain away the blood on his "cultist" robes again, that wasn't what he was worried about. It was the blood on the _bodies of the men in the ha-_

"_No!"_

Ok, don't think about it again. Seeing is believing, and he wasn't seeing it right now. He was fine.

That belief was maintained while he had gently lain Nunnally back onto the gurney, returned to the door, and locked it once again, to prevent her from trying any grand escape of her own while he was still on his own mission. That belief fell apart, however, once he had stepped back into the _bloodsoaked hall, shoes squelching in the crimson red of-_

Eyes closed. Not seen. Not believed.

It was all he could do for now, he reasoned as he made his way slowly down the corpse-strewn hall. He could reconstruct the shreds of paper that were his morality and consciousness at a later date. When they were safe.

* * *

_The Present_

Returning to the room, hands and back leaned against the far, tiled wall and gripping the dark black grip of the fully loaded pistol with all of his underdeveloped muscle's might, he waited. It was dark, and he couldn't see. As soon as light would begin to flood into the room, he knew he would have to shoot.

_Again._

* * *

_15 Minutes Before_

After _several _trips back and forth in the hallway, he had finally found a big enough chair to allow him to see what he needed to see. He was a tall child, surely, but the emphasis on that statement had to be on the "child", as the tall was only relative to that qualifier.

Peering through the small window on the large, eggshell-colored metallic door that separated the inner hospital ward from the old reception area, he quickly discovered…

"Shit, not more of them!"

He cursed quietly, although the door would likely keep his words from penetrating into the other room anytime soon.

The four soldiers- he could not think of any other word to describe them, as they certainly looked more geared up and ready than a typical guard unit- were camped out near the door, three of their number laughing at a fourth who sat next to a small table of playing cards, head hung low. Probably just lost a game, he thought. Inconsequential at the moment.

Furthering his field of view, he turned his head. Opposite of him, another door nearly identical to the very one he stood by now appeared, slightly rusted out but still recognizable. Any furnishings in the room had long since been removed, it appeared. A few other doors littered the room here and there, but for the life of him he had no idea where they could lead.

The outer door, however, was what he was interested in.

"What the…"

It appeared normal, or at least he would assume so, from the outside of the building. While the original glass was covered up with an obviously rushed spray paint job, it still appeared normal. What was most decidedly _not_ fitting of that description, however, were the 4- no, 6- grenades positioned with care around the doorframe. Without the slightest crack of light through a gap in the paint, he would have been unable to see the slight shine of light on metal that signified the tripwire that sat on the floor and, undoubtedly, around other sections of the frame.

This was… most decidedly not good.

Returning to his thoughts, he went through his options. And decided upon the one that he believed would have the desired outcome. _Killing the four humans in the other ro-_

Getting rid of the soldiers in his way. That's right. That's all he's doing.

That choice, just so happened to be the one involving cast iron.

He got off of his booster chair (embarrassment present). Raising his gun until it was touching the thin space where door met wall, he tried to aim the best he could. Any wrong move, by a slight fraction of a degree, and this would go wrong. He would have to fire the whole clip, or his chance would be wasted.

He was as ready as he could be.

Opening the door quickly and with the squeaking, stuttery sound a door made when it had long since remained past its natural life cycle, he solidified his aim and, even as the depressed loser of poker at the table had been looking and was trying to raise the alarm to his three colleagues still recovering from the previous mocking laughter, he fired. His aim?

The grenade, located directly above the right shoulder of said depressed soldier.

All twelve bullets had quickly left the chamber, led being sent hurtling towards the cast iron shell of the grenade in question even as soldiers #2-4 began to turn and grab for their own sidearms. Now, the plan would have been for the bullets to hit said grenade, the grenade's explosive internal contents to become active, and for the grenade to explode, with enough time being present for Alfonso to shut the door to prevent rather grievous self-inflicted grenade injuries while... _taking care_ of the soldiers he saw.

The actual result?

Well, reality worked a little differently than even our best laid plans could comprehend. Unless you're a grenade manufacturer. In which case, planning for grenades being shot at was a good idea.

He found out later that a grenade is a complex weapon of war. Once the safety pin is pulled, nothing occurs until the lever is released. Once released, a spring-loaded striker from inside the grenade is activated, striking a percussion cap and setting a small amount of delay material alight. Several seconds following said actions, the delay material is gone, and detonation occurs when the flame meets the TNT. Causing it to go, in scientific words, kablamo.

However, what was failed to be realized is that having a grenade, which would be an _explosive_ in an _active war zone_, susceptible to bullets would be the idea of an idiot, and would instantaneously see any soldier be demoted and sent to latrine duty on the double.

Behold, an idiot. Or at least someone without enough time to think.

The bullets bounced harmlessly off the serrated cast iron shell of the grenade, resulting in- you guessed it- no explosion. The soldiers, who had momentarily halted reaching for their own armaments, quickly turned to look at the result of the gunshots. And promptly began to laugh.

"Men, capture this fool alive before the big guy gets in here!"

Wordlessly, the remaining three men accepted the order in the form of beginning to run at him, sidearms drawn and safeties off.

And so he ran as well.

The Present

He waited for the light, being all the while surrounded by the cruel comforts of the darkness. He wanted more than anything to try to listen to the guards outside his room, who were doubtlessly still waiting for the retrieval of a set of keys from… somewhere. Since he had long since retreated from the door, he had no idea how long they would be, and dared not check.

He didn't check.

He couldn't check.

They would be here any minute, and he would die, alone and scared in an unknown place surrounded by malice directed at him for a crime he knew nothing about.

Life was unfair.

Life was a bitch.

Why couldn't he get out of here.

Why couldn't he save Nunnally, who was doubtlessly beginning to wake up herself, cold and alone in the dark just as much as he was.

"Wait a second."

Why…

...was the light still gone?

He had been on the ground before he knew it, the pistol aimed weakly towards the door with his body screaming at him to give it a rest, as time just kept marching. But, try as he might to wait for the inevitable, the inevitable was impossibly late.

Was there… hope, of some sort?

"Please, _please_ let it be true."

He clung to that hope. Clung to it with what he had left at the moment. Sure, he didn't truly believe in this hope, in the innermost confines of his heart, as he sneaked quietly towards the barrier between him and his maker. But, given the situation, he was willing to pretend, at least for the moment, that he was safe. That he was okay.

That he was in control again.

The door was opened before he knew it, and what he saw…

…*shudder*...

...were three of the soldiers dead, a bullet embedded in the back of each of their skulls.

* * *

That's… not possible.

The scans… they had to be lying. But they couldn't be, could they? The equipment worked fine.

He checked it himself.

But the increased neurological activity in the frontal lobe. Complex neural pathways linking sectors that should be impossible to link. Hell, activation of brain matter that isn't even present, let alone active!

What the hell is this!

It had to be the royal link. The treasure at long last. He had done it, hadn't he! That wich he had sought for so long...

Attempting to confirm the breakthrough, the second set of scans were taken notice of. Specifically, those of the younger of the two brats under his… "guardianship" for the moment. Reaching over, he brought them down from the ledge they had sat upon and placed them next to the groundbreaking scans he had just witnessed. He took a look, with baited breath.

His theory…

Nothing. A perfectly ordinary brain for a child below puberty to possess. No inexplicable connections. No unique traits. Nothing at all that would make the one in possession of such a brain in any way unique.

But it couldn't be. The irregularities made no sense. A child could not have a fully-functioning brain. Hell, they were royals! This was the only thing he hadn't checked, hadn't yet had the need to check. The scans... were lying. They had to be! Someone was trying to mislead him, yes!?

But which scans were faked? And when? Someone had to be a traitor in the group, no other explanation! Logical deduction dictates it! The machine would have to be fully searched: nobody could have tampered with it in a way that his sharp and observant mind would not be able to detect. His genius would tolerate it no other way!

And so, he left the lab to conduct a thorough inspection of the MRI machine. Leaving the aberrational, but completely unmanipulated, scans of Alfonso and Nunally on the desk, depicting a quite impossible scenario for the brain of a prepubescent child.

* * *

"...Wut… where… Alfie…?"

Thank goodness, the drugs were weaning off. Alfonso had no clue what he would have done if she were still unconscious and indifferent to the world. Well, she was still three fourths asleep, but she was _alive_. And okay.

"Nunnally, come on, we need to get out of here!"

He feared the worst when he had seen the… "incident" in the hallway. The events that occurred, and why, he still didn't know, but he thanked whatever God there was that it did. They needed to escape now, before anything else insane happened.

"But… I wanna sleep…"

No!

"Nunna, please, don't go back to sleep right now!"

"Sleepy… time...:"

Her head drooped back down to the side before he could stop her. Dammit! How could he get her out now!

He didn't think; he acted. Panicked, really. How long would he have to get her out? How long until another guard inevitably got between him and his one route of escape? He couldn't take that risk, not this time!

With that in mind, he removed the restraints on the lower half of Nunnally's body, stumbling around his jittering fingers to undo the leather straps. Not much time left, and too much of that was already gone by the time he had concluded his business. Lifting her up was difficult, but he-

Had spoken too soon, evidently, as he violently tumbled towards the floor with Nunnally, still unconscious, towards the floor.

"No!"

He barely managed to halt the collapse, keeping Nunnally hanging by a thread on the gurney that was her prison while landing _hard_ on his own ass. The impact was sharp and stunned him for a second. Why was it so hard? After a quick glance up at Nunna, who was safely if not securely seated up in safety, he felt into the robes that he was wearing. A solid piece of metal met his probing hand, unnaturally thin and long.

A knife.

Why there was a knife half-imbedded into his clothing was a mystery to be solved… another day.

Struggling to his feet, Alfonso looked down to his embittered, weak arms. Carrying was not an option, not here.

Desperately, he searched his mind for solutions. And then, as if stumbling on an oasis in a desert, he found his solution.

Lifting her into an upright position, he turned himself around and bent down. After a slight nudging of her body, Nunnally fell directly into his arms, positioned on his back. He struggled with the weight, balance noticeably tilted forwards, but he managed.

"Yay… piggy ride…"

His younger sister mumbled to herself as he walked out the door. Inwardly, he sighed with relief. She was recovering.

"Come on Nunna, we're gonna get out of here," he said, more for the sake of his own morale than anything else.

Each step he took down the bloodsoaked hall was a torture, both physically and mentally, but his adrenaline would not let him give up now. He couldn't give up now. Each step also brought him closer to his goal.

There it was, the door. It took some time, but he was here. The shining light was easily visible from his point of view, shining past tarnished windows and onto soody flooring.

"...Alfie? What's going on? Where… where are we?"

Being too engrossed in fulfilling his task, he almost missed the little girl's words from behind.

"Nunna, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He set her down gently, placing her onto two unsteady feet with great care. Looking quizzically towards him, and at his clothing, it took little time for a response.

"No, but your clothes are silly. Why? And why are we here?"

He couldn't deal with this confusion, not yet.

"Listen." He took a breath. "I'll tell you later, I promise. But for now, we need to go through that door and leave. Now. Will you come with me?"

Her face of confusion was obvious to the world. However, his tone was imploring, and so were the eyes looking into her own

"Yes, I will."

"Good. Now, follow me. Think of it like an adventure, just like earlier!"

Hand in hand, he began leading her out. All he had to do was get through the large set of metal doors safely. The grenades would make that… difficult… but with _everything _the day had thrown at him, there had to be some sort of light at the end of the tunnel. Or, rather, light at the end of the hallway.

He was naive.

His observations of the door had just begun when, suddenly, a sharp impact of metal on tile was heard from his left. He had barely begun to turn towards the disruption when-

"You!"

He recognized that voice. But wished like hell he didn't. It was the scientist.

Advancing with the unbalanced and rushed posture of a crazed madman, he was quickly upon them. However, it was not "them" that was hurt, rather…

"Agh!"

Before he could step in, before he could even _think_ to do any such thing, the lunatic had reached out, grabbing a hold of some of Nunnally's loose hairs. and _yanked_ Nunnally towards him, eliciting a cry as he pulled her hair towards him and held her with his left hand. In his right, an automatic pistol.

His eyes were unfocused and crazed. Even more so than before.

"You stains ruined everything! Years of scientific research, theories, justifications, all gone! Nothing makes sense! You aren't even the same as each other!"

The gun was pointed at her head.

"Brother, it hurts! Help!"

This… couldn't be happening. It just couldn't be. He couldn't let it.

"Please, let her go! She has nothing to do with anything!" He was begging at this point; pleading was the only hope left to the him that is alone.

The unfocused gaze of the madman gave him no heed.

"Tell me why?! Why!? I was mocked, eviscerated for everything! 'Newsom must be out of his mind! He can't even understand the Scientific Method.' I withstood everything thrown at me, worked tirelessly for the answer, and yet…!"

He couldn't just watch and do nothing, especially as Nunnally continued pleading for his help, crying all the while from the grip of the newly named "Newsom". But he couldn't do anything, either. Damn his physically useless body!

"What do you want me to do! I'll do it, I swear! Just let Nunnally go!

Something registered.

"It wasn't both of you… it was just you! You, who's brain patterns defy reality and deviate from everything known to man!"

Nunnally, still bawling, was sent hurtling towards the wall to the left, uncaringly and violently. Once contact inevitably occurred, she fell to the ground with a hard impact. But yet she moved no further at the moment, frozen with shock.

And, as Alfonso attempted to make his way towards her, the hand that had become free was now used to put him in a chokehold. Solid, shaking white knuckles gripped his throat, preventing his airway from working properly.

"You can't exist… you mustn't exist! I won't let you ruin everything, not this time! For once, I will be right! I will be validated! I WILL NOT BE GARBAGE!"

The gun dropped to the floor as right hand joined left in the violence. His neck was being severely crushed, and the sheer agonizing _pain_ of the pressure sent shockwaves to his brain. His lungs, the poor, sweet vital organs, were doing what they could, but the lack of oxygen was approaching quickly.

His mind was racing, desperately pleading with itself to find a solution that was nowhere to be found. He looked over to his sister, broken and full of sadness on the ground mere yards away, her purple eyes wet with tears as they watched the events unfolding. "Please! Let go of brother!

It was then that he realized; he wasn't just trying to escape for himself. He already died once, and the thought of dying again, while unsatisfying, was not entirely fearful. But if he died here, died now…

Nunnally wouldn't have a chance. After he was dead, she would be put back in the hell that he had just liberated her from or would follow him into the dark. That could not be allowed to come to pass, not to her. _Especially_ her, who had done nothing to nobody in all!

"Die you little shit!"

Almost without thinking, his flailing hands had become caught on the crimson-stained robes that had still formed unnaturally around his body, coming into contact with a solid, metallic, and sharp object that was familiar.

_That's it!_

He couldn't think, not now. He could only act, while he had some semblance of control left and his enemy was still in an unfocused frenzy. The oxygen was too low to focus on any specific thoughts beyond this. In light of this, it was rather surprising that, as his hands led the knife in a desperate and unguided arc of destruction, it managed to hit the jackpot. Or, in this case, an unprotected and vulnerable chest.

"Agh-"

The blade was swift and forceful; the desperate swing easily tearing through the cloth that was the lab coat and embedding itself within the center of Newsom's slender chest in close proximity to the heart. Blood exploded out, with the waterpipe-like pressure that was the all-important vena cava vein being punctured like a balloon.

The grip loosened and, soon, vanished from his throat, allowing much-needed oxygen to flood into his struggling lungs with a gasp. Hands immediately going to nestle his throat, he looked at the horrendous scene in front of him.

Newsom's eyes had already begun to slightly glaze up and, after a moment or two of futile clawing at his chest and attempting to stay upright, his body fell to the ground like a stringless puppet.

"You… can't have…"

Each word was delivered from the ground with less and less force, but with increasingly necessary effort of will.

He stared at the insane lunatic, heart racing and blood pumping, and the lunatic used what would end up being his last seconds to force his body to stare back.

"I was… supposed to… be inferior… told all my life...but… why…?"

At last, the liters and liters of blood flooding the floor had become enough to overcome the shock effect keeping the man alive and, with a final exhale, he collapsed into the pool of scarlet surrounding him. For the first time since coming into contact with the man, his face showed nothing.

* * *

Ah, fresh air. How he had missed this!

The good Colonel Rathers stepped out of the parlor of the Georges Estate a happy man. Happiest he has felt, matter of fact, since his last pyrrhic mission in the Federation.

Why, you may ask? A multitude of reasons. His reassignment to the capital, full day's rest, and getting all the caffeine out of his system for once certainly contributed. Primary amongst them, however, was the gift from the heavens that he had received in the communication from his superior mere hours before, signaling his ascendence to nobility within the week for a job well done. Sure, it may have hinted at the need for further jobs and sounded a little as though it were blackmail, but corruption came with risks. Worthwhile risks, one and all.

Hard work sure did pay off. When done for the right people, of course.

"My Lord!"

The two privates on either side of the snowy white doors quickly crossed their fist over their chest in salute to him in unison as he exited, dark red neck cape nearly getting trapped in the door as they shut. Ah, they would be a part of the new contingent sent in to replace him and his fellow successful plotters.

"At ease. My orders just came in to return to the capital for further search operations. Until then, command will be entrusted to Captain Growits. Greet him as you would greet me."

"Of course, My Lord!"

As he had begun to look forward and approach the military transport vehicle in front of the gardens, a voice behind him spoke up, "Uh… my lord, permission to ask a question of you?"

Ah, that would be one of the two guards. Oh well, might as well make some conversation before he went off to greatness. "Permission granted, and would you please just refer to me as Colonel?" The whole "My Lord" schtick was always tiresome to him, especially when he was in the private's position once upon a time, and he would be damned if he gave up the opportunity to tell unnatural military etiquette where to shove itself.

"Yes, of course Colonel. I was just wondering, when do you think the Prince and Princess will be found? Is there any news?"

That caused him to give a slight pause in thought. Of course they would be curious. They likely had only been briefed on a surface level, kept in the dark as to the goings on of the situation. And, if the side eye of the man's partner gave anything away, it's that the man was not supposed to give any indication of such to a superior.

Normally, such information would be privy to those the higher ups deemed important enough to hear it. Being in the bliss he was now, Rathers was unconcerned of such things. "Well, it's not looking good, I can tell you that much. They haven't been found by any of the (_official_) search missions and none of the brass knows what's going on at the moment (_as planned_). Still, you never know when something could happen (_it won't_), so don't be shocked if anything happens."

"Of course, Colonel." His subordinate's face looked slightly more at peace with the information, satisfied at learning slightly more about his own role.

Turning back around towards his transport, he once again began towards it, allowing military procedure to once again fall to the wayside as he gingerly walked towards it. His ears picked up some slight buzzing in the distance, but he shoved any concern of insects out of his mind as he happily continued on his way.

So happy he was, however, that Fate inevitably found a way to muck it all up and drag him into the dirt, as per usual.

"Sir!"

The door slammed so violently that it nearly caught the private he had just been speaking to between it and the wall.

For a second goddamn time, he turned around, impatient at all the delays. "Yes, what is it? And what is so important that it cannot wait the half hour it would take for my relief to arrive and take over?"

The attempted rebuke did nothing as the man, now identifiable as one of the few Warrant Officers on site, continued, "It's _Ardent _and _Optim_ sir, they've been found!"

…

It took a few moments for the sentence to register. One moment to translate the codenames of his meal tickets to a better life, the second to match them with the rest of the sentence, and the third to try to understand what that meant. Then, after it registered, moments four and five were spent on confusion and wild internal panic, respectively.

"Wh-What do you mean they were "found"? The investigation was going nowhere yesterday evening!?"

And it was; his _persuasive_ leader on this mission had been none too gentle in making sure all of the area's effective criminal investigators had been _mysteriously_ found in a drunken slumber in their homes late two evenings ago as the official investigation began. How could the dimwits in their place have gotten anything done?

The man adopted a slightly quizzical look. "But, sir, you must have been informed of the investigator's replacement. At the Emperor's direct orders, no less!"

He thought back.

* * *

"_...absolutely no disruptions until morning Private."_

"_But sir… I don't have the authority to order tha-"_

"_THEN TELL THE LIEUTENANT COLONEL TO GIVE THE ORDER!"_

* * *

"...no, I have not been informed. You are certain of this? Absolutely certain?"

"Of course, my lord. One of the new teams on the ground found them several miles up north, on the outskirts of one of the old ghettos. According to my information, they should be arriving via armored helicopter to this location within the next few minutes."

And damn him if that wasn't a helicopter he could hear buzzing, growing stronger the longer he waited until it had landed on the helipad on the other side of the grounds. Needless to say, this was most decidedly _not_ part of any plans he knew of.

Outside, he was stoic and calm, retreating into the safe shell of military professionalism. "Order all units stationed around the Estate to be on full alert. Get the children secured safely into their respective rooms and keep them there until further orders. Also, get me a secured line in the operations room to someone in the Royal Palace at Pendragon."

"Yes, sir!" Off the man went into the main mansion.

Outside, he remained stoic and calm as he marched in after the man. Inside, however, he was going batshit crazy in worry, stress and confusion. How the hell were things fucked up this time?

And, more importantly, how could he get his ass off this sinking ship before it fucked him as well?

* * *

"This way my Prince, immediately!"

He could barely make out a sound over the ear splitting noise of the armored helicopter's wind-shattering blades.

"Get Hessler's and Fitz's squads to secure the hallways, and tell command to monitor the perimeter."

Could hardly move towards the southern field's helipad entrance with the weight hugging onto his side desperately and dragging down his already-injured limbs, as if he might vanish.

"Quick, get them to their rooms, and for god's sake keep them there til further ordered. No exceptions!"

"Yes, My Lord!"

Couldn't concentrate on anything around him, worrying that if he tried to, he would only be driven further into his fresh memories.

"Barnel's squad, take the princess! My men, with me to the Prince!"

That was, until he began to notice the replacement of the daylight with indoor chandeliers. And the absence of the crushing force on his kidneys.

"No, don't take me away!"

Unscrupulous, the men dressed in pitch-black had ripped Nunnally away from his side, and began attempting to transport her to her room, located on the opposite side of the mansion to his own.

But, he had just got her back. He couldn't let it happen again.

"Nunnally! No, don't take her! Don't you touch her!"

He wouldn't let her be taken again. Not this time. Mustering what force he could, he forced himself out of the grip one of the men had on his arm and rushed to her side, hugging her back in the process.

"Brother! Please, I- I don't want to go!"

He hugged her with all the force he had left after such a tumultuous day, resisting the stone grip on his shoulders that tried to pry him away from the most precious person to him in the room.

"Oh, for Christ sake men, just take them together. Get them to the Prince's room. And Barnel, get your ass to the greeting room and fill in Palace security."

The grip had disappeared, but the old one on his arm reappeared. Sensing that it did not intend to repeat the earlier attempt, Alfonso relented, and began the march back to his quarters, Nunnally in tow.

However, whatever hesitation present before had quickly evaporated after the most recent struggle. Looking around, he could immediately see that the Estate was on lockdown in a way he had only studied in schematics. Solid steel coverings had replaced the glass, allowing for not even a single stream of light to pass through. Guards monitored every door- some in the black of special ops, and some in the gray of the typical security- and watched with hard eyes the procession down the hall.

He would have continued his observations, had it not been for the interruption that was coming his way.

"Alfie! Nunnally!"

That voice!

A small voice piped up from his side. "Lelouch?"

He looked over his shoulder and, to his surprise, his younger brother indeed stood at the intersection he had just himself passed, his normally pondering or frustrated eyes instead becoming slightly wet with tears. He ran up to them quickly, making his way around the guards that tried to stop him with unusual flexibility.

"Let him pass! Bring him too!"

Relenting, the guards cleared the path, allowing for the younger prince to nearly tackle the pair in a hug. A hug which was quickly returned.

"I missed you so much! It was- I couldn't- I don't want you to do that ever again!"

Nunnally, in response, tightened her own hug. Alfonso also quietly gave his own. "Never again, I promise you Lelouch. It won't happen ever again."

"_And this time, I will keep that promise. I swear."_

* * *

Time can be such an altogether impossible subject to comprehend. Sure, it can be fickle, and the life of any one soul within its tight grasp could change on the drop of a hat. However, certain unyielding constants still remain.

Alfonso knew this too well.

Over a week had passed since their recovery, and yet he had already been rushed back into the trifles of the daily life of an Empire's prince. As he could tell by looking over his right shoulder at the person still within his room.

"Overall, the lesson on Advanced Algebraic Equations has now concluded. I will of course expect you to review all that we have gone over before the… well, be prepared for your final examinations."

He could hardly manage more than a slight nod towards the mathematics professor. "Of course, Professor."

"Right, then. I shall now take my leave." And with that, the unpleasant situation had come to an end. Finally being able to drop the facade of caring after over seven hours of lecturing and problem solving (broken only by a dinner he ate together with his siblings), the young prince simply returned to the corner, sat down on the hardwood floor, and resumed the fetal position that had become all-too familiar over the last week. Thinking.

Tutors galore had begun to demand more hours than he was willing to give from this solace, although the ones in charge of his education were not a sympathetic lot in any way, seeing as how he found no time to himself between the ending of one lesson and the start of a new.

Royal parties had also stolen his person more than a couple times. Such displays of wealth and power were not unknown, however given that one of the heirs to the mightiest empire on the planet had recently and viciously escaped a terrible fate and lived to tell the tale, such events were a given to welcome the return.

The nobles had been able to learn little of the latter point, and for what reason they did not he had no idea. However, this was to be expected, as unbeknownst to the Prince, the security services disposed of the evidence with haste on the orders of the Palace.

At the moment, that was still yet another thing to add to the mountain of things he could not figure out, much like the reasoning behind all of the horrible actions he had been forced to commit.

He hoped that the mountain might become large enough for an avalanche. Then it might bury him and he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

A knock on the door soon broke him out of his thoughts. Given the lightness but assuredness of the sound, it would have to be his personal guardian, Ashworth. Quickly standing up and rushing over to his bedside before anyone could see what he had been doing, he responded, "Yes?"

"Your highness, the princess has arrived again tonight. Proceed as usual?"

Of course, he had fallen back into calling him by his title. But, given recent…. events...

…

...he would just have to correct him again later. But that was tomorrow's problem.

"Of course! Let her in!"

Before giving the elder man a chance, he rushed to the door and yanked it open himself. "Welcome back Nunna!"

She wore her bright pink nighttime gown, but her face was not as bright as the dress would make one presume. After making her way through the door and closing it, Nunnally proceeded to walk over to him and hug him for nearly a minute, before her subdued voice made an appearance.

"I still don't wanna sleep in my room. Can I stay here again?"

Five days in and she still keeps asking the same thing over and over.

"Yes, of course you can" was the response, along with a small pat on the head. She smiled softly at him, breaking up the hug and walking over to the bed.

She had been coming into his room for the past several nights at this point; whenever she could, she tried to be with him or, failing that, tried to stick around Lelouch and keep up with his younger brother's own antics with chess. It was still a little too soon to go back to playing in the yard and chasing each other around, it seemed.

Lifting himself up onto the other side of the bed after a quick change into nightclothes, he moved into the familiar sleeping position that he had gotten back into, laying on his right side and facing his sister, who lay on her left. He would prefer to have been able to spread out and take up the entire bed, but for obvious reasons, he just brought his knees up.

However, seeing that Nunnally was simply continuing to lay there and look into his own eyes, he decided that now would be as good of a time as ever to broach the elephant in the room. Or, atleast, the elephant that he saw. "Sis, you can't keep coming in here forever."

She looked at him, blank. He didn't want to say it; heck, he despaired thinking about her being alone and away from him. But the longer this continued, the less likely it was that he could convince her to separate herself from him and grow up.

"You have your own room for a reason, and we can always see each other in the morn-"

"No!"

He didn't expect to be cut off mid sentence like that. Nor did he expect Nunnally to move closer to him, face expressing a sadness and concern that he was not used to seeing.

"I won't leave you alone again! If I'm not here, you might… you might just run away again!"

Never.

"I promised Nunnally, I won't do it again."

"I believe you, but… I can't be alone again. I keep thinking you might disappear or vanish! If I'm here, that can't happen, right? You won't be able to even try to leave us again, right?"

Looking into her pleading violet eyes, he found himself feeling guilty for even bringing up the topic in the first place.

"I… I guess so. Ok then Nunnally, you win this time." He chuckled to himself. "Just like you always do."

"If Brother didn't think so wrong all the time, I wouldn't have to be so right!"

Sharing in a smile, they both returned back to their sleeping position. It was nice to be able to laugh again, and he was especially thankful that she could. "Fair point, Nunna. Fair point."

After bidding each other good night, the process of attempting to sleep began. It had taken hold on Nunnally much quicker than it did on Alfonso, however. Being five years younger than his own eleven (technically thirty four years of existence, but he considered himself more and more as the child he appeared with each passing year), it seemed as though she had forgotten everything that had occurred, with the only vestige of the event remaining her increased closeness to himself.

While it appeared Nunnally was dealing with the kidnapping events through repression, that was not so for the soul still fully awake hours later.

He hadn't been getting much sleep recently; he only pretended to wake up half the time when Nunnally herself did, with the other half the time consisting of him being too asleep to be able to wake up at that time.

The events, he may have been able to outrun. But, much like his old life's mistakes, his memories caught up to any lead he thought he could gain on them. He never- _had never _imagined he would ever kill anyone. Spilling blood was only something a phrase he had heard given life to through a somber song in a car ride or an old action thriller his previous father had loved so much. But the blood… it was never as bright in the movies. Never as real as it was then when it was _covering his body and soaking into his skin and onto his sou-_

He broke that train of thought forcefully. Each night, it was the same thoughts. Why? Why was his second life so much harder, its challenges so much harder?

It would likely never be known.

A small shuffle to his side aided in breaking his thoughts. It was Nunnally, squirming slightly in her sleep and her face beginning to scrunch up in fear. It had been like this the last few nights. Like he had then, and as he would now, he took her into his arms and held her close. "It's okay, everything is okay," he whispered and, after a few moments, it was. Her movements slowed and soon tampered off, peace returning to her dreams once more it appeared.

Closing his eyes for what he hoped would be the final time for the night, he made sure his last glance was on his sleeping sister's now peaceful and quaint face.

Maybe that was why, he pondered. Either way, it was time to get serious. After everything that has happened, he considered this world, these _siblings_, his true family now. And, while his father might not give a single shit about whether they swam or drowned in the sea and his mother was, while an improvement, still not always there, it would have to be he that took on the burden of keeping them safe.

The world has proven that it didn't much care for his own existence, and only slightly more for Nunnally's. So, he would have to keep her, and Lelouch, afloat. With that came struggle, as he had clearly learned, and quite probably blood, especially considering the way the previous infighting for the throne had occurred. But he would just have to withstand it.

"_Screw you world_." came his final thoughts before the weariness of his body finally caught up with him and brought him to slumber. "_You aren't taking her from me again._"

* * *

Hello all, offtimeotaku here!

It appears as if the hero's have won out the day this time, but at what cost? Will they win next time? Will their mental scars heal? And most importantly, will I manage to write the next chapter before hell freezes over? Stay tuned to find out!

But really though, my plans for the story are accelerating, and I shall not allow my recent move to a college dorm to stop them. Those plans, you ask? With the end of one arc comes the beginning of another. Which shall involve a time skip.

A time skip will allow me to completely refocus the story, and will also force me to actually solidify the backstory of these characters and progress into the plot of the show. That being said, my current thoughts are going to be about how to handle Alfonso's impact on the children's exile, and where exactly he could end up. Who knows? Could be Japan, could be nowhere, could be the Federation. Only I know for sure.

Next time, we shall see the brewing of a rebellion, the breaking out of a familiar scene, and the introduction of a brand new force into the mix.

Reviews!

**Lambda38**\- Yeah, in hindsight the leaping around was a little poorly executed, but I attempted to more clearly lay out a sequence of events here. Just know that the majority of this chapter and chapter 8 are intended to occur between the small skip in time at the end of chapter 6. It might be a slightly unrealistic timetable, but I kinda put the time skip in chapter 6 without fully realizing how much would go into filling it.

That's all from me for today all. Have a nice day!


End file.
